BHE   SPOKE   HALF   DREAMILY     .     .     .     GAZING   AT   THE   CARTOON   WITH 
GLIMMERED  EYES.      (P.  49.) 


BOOK  8TORF 
M«  PACIFIC  A  rmtfux 

T.Of/G  fMACU.  CALtf. 


ALIDA  CRAIG 


BY 

PAULINE   KING 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BT 

T.  K.  HANNA,  JR. 


NEW-YORK 
GEORGE  H.  RICHMOND  &  CO. 

1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1896,  BY 
GEORGE  H.  RICHMOND  &  CO. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  <fc  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


ALIDA  CRAIG 


CHAPTER  I 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beckington's  house 
in  Fiftieth  Street  just  off  Fifth  Avenue 
is  one  of  those  landmarks  of  perfect 
good  taste  in  the  remodelling  of  the 
erstwhile  brownstone  front  that  have 
so  changed,  in  the  last  few  years,  the 
dreary  character  of  our  city  streets. 
The  interior,  too,  has  seemed  to  strike 
the  happy  medium  between  conven- 
tional ugliness  and  the  prim  arrange- 
ments of  the  artistic  decorator,  to 
which,  while  they  may  be  pioneers  of 
sweetness  and  light,  it  is  often  so 
difficult  to  apply  the  word  home. 


2061928 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

The  Beckingtons'  house  was  essen- 
tially a  home.  When  Clarence  Beck- 
ington's  engagement  was  announced 
a  few  years  ago,  every  one  was  aston- 
ished to  find  that  his  choice  had  hit 
upon  a  soft  little  dark-eyed  beauty  in 
her  first  season,  and  there  was  much 
shaking  of  heads,  and  direful  prog- 
nostication that  such  a  well-known 
clubman  would  need  a  good  deal 
stronger  pair  of  hands,  to  make  him 
run  carefully  in  double  harness,  than 
the  helpless-looking  baby  ones  he  had 
selected.  Under  her  soft,  babyish  ex- 
terior Mrs.  Beckington  however  had 
the  quality  of  common  sense  developed 
to  a  remarkable  degree,  and  when  she 
married,  the  warm  love  she  bore  her 
husband  seemed  to  bring  her  an  intu- 
ition of  his  nature  quite  beyond  what 
a  cleverer  woman  might  have  rea- 
soned. Instead  of  trying  to  wean  him 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

from  his  former  tastes,  she  became 
his  devoted  companion.  Living  in 
his  pursuits  and  ideas,  learning  to  ride 
straight  in  the  Meadowbrook  hunt,  to 
take  an  interest  in  yachts  and  horse- 
racing,  to  play  billiards  by  the  hour, 
and  last,  but  not  least,  to  understand 
her  husband's  desire  for  other  com- 
panionship than  her  own — for  men 
and  tobacco  smoke.  Her  house  was 
the  gathering  ground  for  her  hus- 
band's bachelor  friends,  who  voted  it 
the  j  oiliest  one  in  the  city. 

One  cold,  snowy  night  in  December 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beckington  were  for  once 
alone.  They  sat  talking  by  the  fire  for 
some  time  after  dinner  and  then  went 
into  the  billiard  room,  which  was  a 
long  addition  built  on  an  adjoining 
lot.  The  walls  were  panelled  in  hard 
wood,  and  the  polished  floor  was  bare 
of  rugs  save  for  a  huge  tiger-skin  be- 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

fore  the  tiled  fireplace,  where  a  bright 
fire  burned.  A  leather  divan  ran  all 
around  the  walls,  and  there  was  little 
else  in  the  way  of  furniture  except  the 
big  table  and  a  few  comfortable 
chairs. 

A  pretty  woman  never  looks  pret- 
tier than  at  billiards  ;  and  Mrs.  Beck- 
ington  had  on  a  bright  scarlet  gown 
that  lit  up  her  little  dark  face,  and  as 
she  moved  to  and  fro  the  red  dashes 
of  her  bright  silk  caught  and  were 
reflected  a  hundred  times  in  the  pol- 
ished surfaces  about  her.  Her  face 
wore  a  look  of  intense  absorption  as 
she  took  aim.  Her  husband,  in  con- 
trast, played  hastily  and  brilliantly, 
the  play  of  an  experienced  man  not 
quite  sure  of  the  steadiness  of  his 
nerves  and  hand. 

"  One,  two,"  she  cried  at  last.  "  I 
believe  I  am  going  to  win.  There!  " 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

as  she  sent  her  ball  whirling  across 
the  table — "beaten  by  two  points — 
now  how  do  you  feel?  " 

Her  face  was  lit  up  like  a  little,  soft, 
dark  rose  by  the  excitement  ;  she  was 
bewitchingly  pretty,  and  her  husband 
moved  around  the  table  to  where  she 
stood  and  put  his  arm  around  her  lov- 
ingly- 

"I  think  my  wife  is  the  cleverest 
little  woman  in  the  world !  Shall  we 
try  another  game  ?  " 

• 

"  In  just  a  moment,"  she  answered, 
nestling  against  his  shoulder.  "  Clar- 
ence "  —  with  great  eagerness  — 
"aren't  you  glad  you  married  a  girl 
who  can  beat  you  at  billiards?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am,  dear.  When  I  was 
a  bachelor,  on  snowy  nights  like  this, 
when  none  of  the  men  came  around 
and  I  was  too  lazy  to  go  up  to  the 
club,  the  butler  would  come  and  play 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

with  me.  Old  Thomas  taught  me 
when  I  was  a  boy ;  he  is  a  very  good 
player,  but  it  rather  lowered  my  self- 
esteem  to  have  my  own  butler  give 
me  every  other  game  just  as  though  I 
was  still  fourteen  years  old." 

"  So  you  think  I  am  an  improve- 
ment on  Thomas,  do  you?"  laughed 
Mrs.  Beckington. 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  lot.  You  don't  know 
how  awfully  amusing  you  look  when 
you  play — your  eyes  get  so  bright  and 
your  hair  tips  so  becomingly  side- 
ways." 

"Clarence,  you  are  a  mean  tease." 
And  darting  away  from  him,  she 
playfully  poked  her  cue  at  the  middle 
of  his  immaculate  shirt  front. 

"  Stop,  Bertha ;  you'll  bend  the  cue." 

He  reached  out  his  long  arm  to 
catch  the  provoking  little  red  fairy, 
but  she  danced  out  of  his  reach,  and 


for  a  few  minutes  they  chased  each 
other  around  the  table,  until  Bertha 
sank  into  a  chair  breathless. 

When  peace  was  restored  and  she 
had  recovered  her  breath,  nothing 
would  content  her  but  that  they  must 
play  again.  It  was  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  beaten  her  husband,  and  she 
wanted  to  see  if  she  could  repeat  her 
success. 

Mr.  Beckington  was  secretly  al- 
most as  much  pleased  as  she  was  ;  he 
would  go  around  for  days  telling  how 
his  wife  had  beaten  him  at  billiards, 
for  he  was  tremendously  proud  of  her 
success  in  all  sports.  He  pretended, 
however,  to  consider  her  conduct  most 
undignified. 

"  Now,  Bertha,  don't  you  dare  beat 
me  again,"  he  said,  shaking  his  cue  at 
her  as  they  began  a  new  game.  "  If 
you  do  I  shall  get  out  the  marriage 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

service  and  read  you  your  proper  duty 
toward  your  husband." 

"  My  proper  duty  towards  my  hus- 
band," throwing  back  her  head  in 
glee  and  showing  all  her  little  even 
teeth,  "  is  to  beat  him  if  I  can." 

"Just  so,  my  dear;  see  if  you  can 
again. ' ' 

They  were  chalking  their  cues 
afresh  when  the  door  opened  and  a 
middle-aged  man  entered  with  all  the 
freedom  of  an  habitue  of  the  house. 
He  had  a  thin,  characteristic  face  and 
sharp  little  eyes,  and  his  spare, 
straight  figure  was  carried  with  the 
precision  of  a  martinet. 

"  Hello,  Gordon  "White,  make  your- 
self at  home,"  called  Mr.  Beckington, 
shaking  the  newcomer's  hand.  "  Don't 
speak  to  Bertha  or  you  will  upset  her ; 
she  has  been  getting  an  aim  for  the 

last  half  hour." 

8 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Bertha  smilingly  held  out  her  little 
hand,  which  Mr.  "White,  with  the  air 
of  an  old  beau,  raised  to  his  lips. 

"  You  don't  mind  if  we  go  on,  do 
you?"  she  said.  "You  know  you 
may  smoke." 

No,  Mr.  White  did  not  mind  their 
going  on.  In  his  phlegmatic  exist- 
ence there  were  probably  no  happier 
hours  than  when,  curled  up  in  a  corner 
in  the  Beckingtons'  house,  he  watched 
Mrs.  Beckington  flitting  around.  He 
drew  a  chair  up  to  the  fire,  lit  a  cigar 
and  leaned  back,  blowing  rings  of 
smoke  in  perfect  contentment. 

The  game  went  on,  and  as  he  sat 
watching  the  husband  and  wife  his 
keen  eyes  expressed  a  degree  of  affec- 
tion that  would  have  surprised  their 
owner,  who  prided  himself  on  his 
stoical  demeanor. 

The  capture  of  Gordon  White,  one 
9 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

of  her  husband's  most  intimate  friends 
and  an  inveterate  clubman,  was  one 
of  the  brightest  plumes  in  Mrs.  Beck- 
ington's  cap.  He  was  wont  to  say  he 
had  never  supposed  there  was  a  better 
place  than  his  own  corner  at  the  club 
until  Clarence  was  married. 

"When  I  went  to  the  wedding," 
he  would  exclaim  pathetically,  "I 
thought — there,  I  have  lost  another 
friend — another  house  full  of  women 
and  tea." 

For  a  long  time  he  would  accept  none 
of  his  friend's  invitations  to  come  and 
meet  his  wife  ;  finally,  when  he  met 
Mrs.  Beckington  he  thought  her  a 
fraud  and  kept  a  keen  watch  upon 
her;  he  could  not  believe  that  she 
really  liked  her  husband's  friends, 
smoking,  and  playing  billiards.  "When 
he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  she 

was  sincere  he  settled  into  her  devoted 
10 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

henchman,  and  had  even  been  known 
upon  one  occasion  to  offer  to  escort 
her  to  an  afternoon  reception. 

As  he  watched  her  pretty  red  figure 
flitting  around  the  table  a  feeling  of 
age  and  loneliness  crept  over  him,  and 
his  thoughts  were  drifting  away  in  a 
manner  which  he  would  have  char- 
acterized as  ' '  beastly  sentimental,  you 
know,"  when  the  door  opened  again 
to  admit  another  visitor.  This  time  a 
very  young  man  of  huge,  athletic  fig- 
ure, his  square,  clean-cut  face  sur- 
mounted by  a  shock  of  light  hair  that 
to  his  great  annoyance  could  never  be 
made  to  assume  the  semi-fashionable 
baldness.  This  mane  of  hair  and  a 
nice  pair  of  gray  eyes  were  his  most 
characteristic  features.  Not  a  clever 
man,  Jim  Ashley — rather  a  common- 
place, clean,  sweet  boy  whom  every 

one  felt  confidence  in. 
11 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"Good  evening,  Jim,"  they  all 
called  with  delightful  informality. 

"  Good  evening — how  is  the  game 
— how  many  are  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Beckington  excitedly  gave 
him  a  left  handshake. 

"  I  won  the  last  game  and  I'm  crazy 
to  beat  this.  I'm  a  point  ahead." 

The  two  outsiders  immediately  fell 
to  betting  upon  her  chances.  They 
stood  beside  the  table,  eagerly  watch- 
ing every  point,  and  applauded  wildly 
as  Bertha  made  a  brilliant  stroke  and 
scored.  She  had  beaten,  and  sank 
into  a  chair  exhausted  with  her  tri- 
umph. Her  pulses  beat  wildly  with 
the  excitement  of  the  game,  and  she 
was  flushed  and  hot.  Her  husband 
brought  a  smoking- jacket  and  wrapped 
it  around  her  warm  neck  and  arms 
with  loverlike  devotion,  making  her 

look  like  a  pretty  child  with  her  little 
12 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

curly  head  and  mignonne  face  peeping 
out  of  the  depths  of  big  collar.  Gor- 
don "White  brought  his  cigar  and  sat 
down  on  the  divan  beside  her,  refusing 
the  charms  of  a  game  for  once,  and  the 
two  others  began  to  play  again. 

It  would  probably  have  been  a 
great  blow  to  Gordon  White's  pride 
had  he  known  that  Mrs.  Beckington's 
great  reason  for  liking  him  was  be- 
cause she  thought  him  quite  an  old 
gentleman.  The  paternal  air  which 
he  affected  toward  her  went  better 
with  his  well-preserved  sixty  years 
than  he  had  any  idea.  He  leaned 
toward  her  now  in  a  manner  expres- 
sive of  the  greatest  interest  in  their 
tete-a-tete. 

"  Tell  me,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he 
said  pompously,  "  what  have  you  been 
doing  this  long  winter  day  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  been  doing  such  a  lot  of 
13 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

things.  Which  reminds  me,  I  have 
been  so  hoping  all  day  that  you  would 
come  in  this  evening,  for  there  is  some- 
thing I  want  you  to  do  specially  for 
me  ;  will  you?" 

"Anything,"  he  answered  senti- 
mentally. 

As  he  spoke  the  two  men  looked  up 
from  their  game,  and  as  Bertha,  set- 
tling back  in  her  chair,  answered 
sweetly,  ' '  I  want  you  to  buy  me  a 
doll, ' '  there  was  a  laugh  from  their  re- 
gion that  told  they  had  been  listening. 

"  I  don't  mind  your  scoffing  one 
bit,"  White  called  to  them  good-na- 
turedly. ' '  If  Mrs.  Beckington  wants 
a  doll  I  will  certainly  get  her  one. 
My  dear  young  lady,  won't  your  hus- 
band let  you  have  a  doll  ?  " 

It  took  some  time  for  Mrs.  Becking- 
ton to  explain  that  she  did  not  want 

to  play  with  a  doll,  but  that  she  was 
14 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

one  of  the  patronesses  of  the  Chil- 
dren's Aid  Society,  and  intended  ask- 
ing every  man  she  knew  to  give  her  a 
toy  for  the  Christmas  tree.  '  She  very 
particularly  impressed  upon  Mr. 
White  that  he  must  go  and  buy  the 
doll  himself,  so  that  he  would  really 
be  doing  something  for  the  poor. 

"Bless  her  kind  little  heart!" 
thought  White,  as  he  took  out  his 
notebook  and  wrote  in  a  pretty 
cramped  hand,  "Buy  a  doll."  He 
chuckled  to  himself  as  he  closed  the 
book  on  the  entry,  which  looked  so 
queerly  among  a  list  of  bets  and  other 
essentially  masculine  doings. 

Mrs.  Beckington  suddenly  turned 
to  her  husband  with  an  alert,  quick 
movement,  like  a  little  bird. 

"  Clarence,  do  you  think  Mr.  White 
would  like  to  hear  about  the  girl 

bachelor?  "  she  said  anxiously. 
15 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Her  husband  laughed;  he  was  used 
to  his  wife's  fresh  enthusiasms.  As 
soon  as  she  came  home  from  her  calls 
that  afternoon  she  had  begun  about 
her  new  acquaintance,  and  had  talked 
to  him  all  the  time  they  were  dressing 
for  dinner,  and  all  through  dinner  and 
all  the  time  they  were  sitting  by  the 
fire,  and  until  they  began  their  game. 
He  felt  quite  willing  to  hear  it  all  over 
again,  however,  and  was  sure  White 
would  want  to  know  all  about  the  girl 
bachelor. 

"What  is  a  girl  bachelor?" 
queried  White. 

Mr.  Ashley  too  was  interested  ;  he 
stopped  playing  and  joined  them. 

"  What  is  it?  I  too  am  anxious  to 
be  enlightened.  What's  a  girl  bache- 
lor? Is  White  a  girl  bachelor?  " 

Mr.  White  glared  at  him  crossly. 

"  I  should  think  it  was  one  of  those 
16 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

dudes  in  trained  frock  coats  one  sees 
on  Fifth  Avenue  about  five  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,"  he  retorted  gruffly. 

"Do  let  me  speak,"  said  Mrs. 
Beckington  pathetically. 

She  always  declared  that  men  talked 
so  much  she  was  never  able  to  get  in 
a  word  in  her  own  house.  However, 
for  once  there  were  no  more  interrup- 
tions, while  she  told  them  all  about 
the  girl  bachelor. 

Briefly,  her  narrative  was  to  the 
effect  that  Dorothy  Mason,  a  young 
lady  who  will  be  properly  introduced 
in  the  coming  chapters,  had  been  hav- 
ing her  portrait  painted,  and  Mrs. 
Mason  had  called  in  the  afternoon  to 
take  Bertha  up  to  the  studio  to  let  her 
see  how  successful  the  picture  was. 
Bertha  had  admired  the  portrait,  but 
still  more  the  artist  herself.  A  long 

campaign    of    receptions    had    been 
17 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

planned,  but  the  two  ladies  let  the 
afternoon  slip  by  while  they  lingered 
in  the  studio,  and  when  Bertha  reached 
home  she  was  bubbling  with  enthusi- 
asm concerning  the  charms  and  talents 
of  Miss  Craig,  who  painted  so  well, 
and  was  so  delightful. 

When  at  last  she  stopped  talking, 
Mr.  White  looked  down  on  her  fluffy 
head  with  an  air  of  decided  amuse- 
ment. 

"  And  may  I  ask,"  he  said,  "  is  this 
interesting  girl  bachelor  a  gay  young 
thing  between  forty  and  fifty,  whose 
portraits  it  is  as  much  a  charity  to  buy 
as  the  dolls  for  your  Christmas  tree  ? 
Does  she  do  such  nice  illustrations — 
only  they  won't  sell?  " 

For  reply  Bertha  walked  across  the 
room  and  got  the  last  number  of  the 
Century,  which  contained  one  of  Miss 

Craig's  illustrations.    It  was  a  clever, 
18 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

crisp  drawing,  certainly  not  amateur- 
ish, and  the  men's  opinion  of  her 
protegee  rose  at  once. 

"  Her  portrait  of  Dorothy  is  splen- 
didly broad  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
like  Chase,  and  she  must  make  lots  of 
money,  for  her  studio  was  hung  with 
tapestry  ever  so  much  more  beautiful 
than  what  we  have,  and  she  gave  us 
such  good  tea.  Oh,  it  was  all  so 
charming  and  original,  so  different 
from  the  way  we  stupid  people  live," 
she  said  regretfully. 

Mr.  Ashley  and  Mr.  White  had  not 
been  paying  strict  attention  to  the 
last  part  of  her  remarks  ;  they  had 
been  whispering  in  the  most  undigni- 
fied, schoolboyish  fashion. 

"  "We  don't  doubt  that  her  studio  is 
superb,  but  was  she  very  emancipated  ? 
"White  wants  to  know,"  said  Ashley 

mischievously. 

19 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"I  don't,"  growled  "White  indig- 
nantly. 

"  Yes,  lie  does  ;  he  wants  to  know  if 
she  has  short  hair  and  if  she  wears 
trousers.  He  says  he  has  heard  of  a 
woman  artist  who  did." 

Certainly  Miss  Craig's  pretty  ears 
ought  to  have  burned  at  the  amount 
of  interest  she  was  exciting.  Mrs. 
Beckington  took  her  new  acquaint- 
ance seriously  ;  she  would  allow  no 
sarcasms  or  light  suggestions.  Short 
hair !  She  described  with  much 
warmth  the  prettiness  of  Miss  Craig's 
hair !  Trousers !  She  scorned  the  idea, 
and  went  off  into  an  admiring  de- 
scription of  the  dainty  gown  in  which 
the  artist  had  received  her.  She  final- 
ly routed  the  scoffing  men  by  declar- 
ing that  she  not  only  dressed  to  per- 
fection, but  that  Mrs.  Mason  had  said 
that  she  made  all  her  gowns  herself. 

20 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"Mrs.  Beckington,"  cried  Ashley 
in  mock  devotion,  falling  down  on  one 
knee  before  her,  "I  implore  you  to 
introduce  me  to  her.  Do  you  think 
she  could  make  dress  shirts?  Heav- 
ens! what  a  saving.  White,  you  can't 
have  her  ;  I  spoke  first." 

"Don't  worry,  my  boy,"  said  the 
astute  bachelor;  "I'll  never  marry 
any  woman  unless  she  can  make  high 
hats  and  patent-leather  shoes. ' ' 

Mrs.  Beckington  felt  a  little  angry. 
She  had  quite  fallen  in  love  with  the 
little  maiden  who  was  so  simple  and 
natural  and  did  the  honors  of  her  big 
studio  with  such  quiet  dignity.  She 
did  not  like  her  friends  made  fun  of. 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  would 
have  been  more  sympathetic,"  she 
said,  glaring  at  the  three  laughing 
faces.  "  She  is  the  most  charming 

girl  I  ever  saw,  and  you  seem  to  think 
21 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

that  a  woman  who  has  any  brains 
must  be  an  ugly  little  old  maid ! 
Miss  Craig  isn't  an  old  maid  and  she 
never  will  be.  As  we  were  coming 
away  I  said  to  Dorothy  that  it  seemed 
funny  such  a  nice  girl  hadn't  married, 
and  she  quite  snapped  at  me.  She 
said,  '  Oh,  Miss  Craig  is  a  girl  bache- 
lor;' that's  where  I  got  the  name.  It 
just  suits  her  and  I  think  it  so  pretty." 
There  was  warmth  about  Mrs. 
Beckington's  partisanship  of  every- 
thing, from  dolls  for  a  Christmas  tree 
to  the  wounded  reputation  of  her 
friends,  which,  while  it  might  riot 
always  carry  conviction  as  to  the  jus- 
tice of  her  cause,  at  any  rate  reflected 
her  goodness  of  heart.  She  was  given 
to  enthusiasms  that  were  not  by  any 
means  short-lived.  Her  healthful  na- 
ture seemed  to  feel  by  intuition  the 

true  worth  of  those  with  whom  she  was 
22 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

thrown,  and  if  she  had  a  good  many 
intimate  friends,  certainly  no  one 
could  accuse  her  of  lacking  in  faithful- 
ness to  any  of  them.  Nor  do  I  think 
she  was  an  exception  in  this  ;  the 
theory  that  women  are  little  cats,  pur- 
ring to  each  other's  faces  and  biting 
behind  each  other's  backs,  is  certainly 
worn  threadbare,  and  the  comic  papers 
that  fill  their  columns  about  women's 
jealousies  and  small  meannesses  would 
find  their  ardent  friendships  and  en- 
thusiasms much  more  amusing. 

"I'll  not  tell  you  another  thing 
about  her,"  said  Mrs.  Beckington, 
with  a  pout.  "  You  sha'n't  any  of  you 
know  her,  and  Dorothy  Mason  and  I 
will  keep  her  all  to  ourselves.  Oh, 
just  one  thing  more ' ' — recollecting 
herself:  "my  brother  Philip  knows 
her;  I  met  him  going  in  just  as  we 

were  coming  away." 
23 


ALIDA 

They  were  all  startled  by  a  voice 
from  the  doorway: 

"  The  saying  about  the  devil  is 
trite,"  it  called,  "but  since  I  hear 
my  name  you  might  as  well  tell  me 
what  it  is  all  about.  Good  evening — 
how  comfortable  you  all  look — 
Bertha,  as  usual,  posing  as  an  angel 
in  a  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke."  The 
owner  of  the  voice  entered  the  room 
and  joined  the  group,  shaking  hands 
with  the  men  and  kissing  Mrs.  Beck- 
ington  affectionately. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  know 
her?  "  they  all  cried. 

"Who,  Bertha?  Met  her  when 
she  was  a  baby." 

"No,  not  Bertha;  the  girl  bache- 
lor." 

"What  are  you  all  talking  about? 
What  an  extraordinary  reception !  If 

I  did  not  know  the  ways  of  this  erra- 
24 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

tic  household  I  should  think  you  were 
all  slightly  insane.  Who  is  a  girl 
bachelor,  and  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  all  my  fault,"  said  Bertha. 
"  Mrs.  Mason  took  me  to  Miss  Craig's 
studio  this  afternoon,  and  I  .have  been 
telling  them  about  her.  A  girl  like 
her,  who  earns  her  own  living,  is 
called  a  girl  bachelor,  you  see." 

As  she  spoke  she  felt  that  her 
brother  was  displeased ;  a  shade  passed 
across  his  dark  face,  which  was,  by 
one  of  those  curious  family  likenesses, 
very  similar  in  feature,  but  entirely 
different  in  character  and  expres- 
sion. 

Separated  by  ten  years  of  age,  in 
Philip's  lighter  moods,  and  in  a  certain 
winsome  charm  that  he  had  not  en- 
tirely outgrown  with  his  early  man- 
hood, they  seemed  much  alike,  but  in 
his  more  thoughtful,  deeper  moments 

25 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

one  would  scarcely  have  guessed  them 
to  be  of  the  same  family. 

"My  dear  sister,"  he  said  gravely, 
"don't  you  think  it  is  rather  hard 
that  because  a  young  woman  is  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  have  to  earn  her  own 
living  that  she  must  be  called  by  a 
slang  name?  " 

Perhaps  he  felt  his  tone  more  re- 
proving than  he  intended,  for  he 
added: 

"Were  you  going  to  Mrs.  How- 
ard's ?  I  stopped  in  there  on  my  way 
up  and  she  asked  me  if  you  wouldn't 
be  around." 

Mrs.  Beckington  saw  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  further  discuss  the  young 
artist.  "Womanlike,  she  immediately 
wondered  why  not. 

The  evening  had  slipped  by  so 
quickly  that  she  had  forgotten  about 

her  engagement   at    Mrs.    Howard's 
26 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

' '  small  and  early. ' '  The  carriage  had 
been  waiting  for  some  time;  she  de- 
clared she  must  go,  and  hurried  out 
of  the  room  to  get  her  sortie  de  bal. 
"  Who  is  going  with  me?  "  she  said, 
coming  back  in  a  moment  and  stick- 
ing her  head  in  through  the  door. 
"  Clarence  has  such  a  cold  I  can't 
possibly  martyrize  him." 

The  three  other  men  started 
toward  her;  but  no!  she  could  not 
take  them  all.  She  finally  decided 
on  Mr.  Ashley,  who  was  still  of  an  age 
to  enjoy  a  dance,  and  they  went  skip- 
ping down  the  hall  together  gayly, 
Mr.  Beckington  watching  his  wife's 
little  figure  until  the  door  closed. 

"Bring  her  back  safely,  Jim,"  he 
called  after  them. 


27 


CHAPTEE   II 

THE  three  men  sat  for  some  time 
around  the  fire  and  smoked  in  silence. 
Now  that  Mrs.  Beckington  was  gone, 
they  assumed  easier  attitudes  and  their 
faces  relaxed  into  that  calm  blankness 
that  men  allow  themselves  when  they 
know  each  other  intimately  and  have 
nothing  in  particular  to  say.  They 
were  essentially  men  who  had  seen 
life,  had  lived,  enjoyed,  sinned  and 
suffered.  Gordon  White,  older  by 
twenty  years  than  the  others,  and  who 
in  general  society  appeared  only  a 
little  their  senior,  dropped  back,  now 
that  his  face  was  deprived  of  its  usu- 
ally alert  air,  into  a  much  older  look- 
38 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

ing  man.  There  were  those  who 
wondered  what  his  real  life  had  been. 
A  great  traveller,  a  bookworm,  a 
pleasant  friend  and  companion,  mod- 
est to  a  fault,  punctilious  in  dress  and 
manner,  a  bright,  keen  wit — whatever 
may  have  been  the  stormy  passages  of 
his  past,  he  had  kept  his  own  secrets 
well,  and  his  quiet,  reserved  face  told 
no  tales.  Men  in  their  lives  live  many 
characters,  and  perhaps  we  have  met 
Gordon  White  in  really  the  happiest 
and  finest  period  of  his  life,  when  the 
sting  is  softening  out  of  his  sharp 
speeches  and  he  is  mellowing  down 
into  his  last  part,  that  of  an  old  beau 
dancing  attendance  upon  pretty  Mrs. 
Beckington. 

The  other  men  were  still  young,  and 
there  had  existed  between  them  a 
warm  friendship  since  their  college 
days,  when  they  had  shared  each 

29 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

other's  rooms,  belongings,  and  pranks. 
It  is  out  of  date,  I  know,  and  rather 
savors  of  the  Elizabethan  age  to  talk 
of  men  loving  each  other,  but  these 
two  men  loved  each  other  with  an 
affection  which  was  no  less  real  be- 
cause our  age  of  broadcloth  and  starch 
does  not  lend  itself  to  the  show  of  as 
much  feeling  as  that  in  which  the 
greatest  mind  of  English  literature 
indited  sonnets  to  Mr.  W.  H.  They 
knew  each  other's  lives  for  good  or 
evil,  with  no  reservations,  and  as 
Philip's  little  sister  grew  up  out  of 
her  short  frocks,  Clarence  was  always 
held  up  to  her  as  the  criterion  of  all 
that  was  excellent  and  fascinating, 
and  on  her  wedding  day  Mrs.  Beck- 
ington  could  very  well  have  said  that 
her  husband  was  her  first  and  only 
love.  If  a  bond  had  been  needed  to 

cement  the  two  men  closer  together,  it 
30 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

was  formed  by  their  interests  center- 
ing in  her  lovable  little  person. 

Philip  Herford  sat  brooding  and 
looking  into  the  fire,  his  brow  knitted 
over  his  deep-set  eyes  as  he  thought. 
He  was  one  of  those  men  who  are 
handsome  from  a  fine  presence  rather 
than  from  regularity  of  feature.  The 
word  charming  seldom  applies  to  a 
man's  appearance  without  some  reser- 
vation of  effeminacy,  but  Philip  Her- 
ford was  charming  from  strength  and 
magnetism.  His  face  was  intellectual 
and  his  eyes  thoughtful  under  his  deep 
brows.  He  liked  the  society  of  artists 
and  literary  people,  the  society  of 
London  and  Paris — his  friends  were 
as  the  sands  of  the  sea.  Now,  as  he 
sat  thinking,  his  face  wore  a  look  of 
melancholy,  and  his  mouth  and  chin 
were  square  and  strong  in  contrast  to 

his  soft  dark  eyes,  settled  into  grim 
31 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

determination.  His  cigar  went  out, 
but  he  did  not  heed  it,  and  leaned  his 
head  on  his  hand  as  though  in  physi- 
cal weariness,  staring  into  the  fire. 
The  room  was  quiet,  save  for  an  occa- 
sional falling  of  coal  in  the  grate. 
Finally  White  roused  himself  from 
the  comfortable  corner  in  which  he 
had  been  nearly  asleep. 

"  I  must  be  getting  along, "  he  said ; 
"there's  a  meeting  up  at  the  club 
that  I  ought  to  get  to  before  to-mor- 
row. Good  night,  Philip ;  good  night, 
Beckington."  And  the  little  bache- 
lor was  on  his  way  to  his  favorite 
haunt. 

"Nice  fellow,  old  White,"  said 
Philip  as  the  door  closed  behind  him. 
"  How  he  wears.  When  I  was  about 
twelve  years  old  I  can  remember  his 
looking  just  as  he  does  now."  He 
spoke  more  from  a  desire  to  break  the 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

long  silence  than  from  any  interest  in 
what  he  was  saying. 

"I  wonder  if  it  is  still  snowing," 
said  Clarence,  going  to  the  window. 
"If  it  is,  the  horses  will  be  buried, 
Bertha  is  staying  so  late."  He  drew 
the  curtain,  letting  a  flood  of  moon- 
light into  the  room.  The  snow  had 
ceased,  the  sky  was  full  of  glittering 
stars ;  it  was  one  of  those  cold,  glitter- 
ing nights  that  come  after  a  storm. 
As  he  looked  out  into  the  white  street, 
which  on  the  morrow  would  be  a  mass 
of  dirty-brown  wheel  tracks,  it 
brought  to  his  mind  his  college  days 
and  the  cold  winter  nights  on  the  hills 
of  ISTew  Haven.  "  It  makes  me  think 
of  college,"  he  said,  wondering  what 
was  the  matter  with  his  gloomy  friend. 

Philip  arose  and  came  to  the  win- 
dow, looking  out  into  the  moonlight 
over  his  shoulder. 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  snow  always 
makes  me  think  of  college  too,  and  our 
nights  on  the  bob  runners  down  those 
long  icy  hills.  Talk  about  toboggan 
slides  and  skeeing  and  every  other 
kind  of  sport,  they  don't  come  any- 
where near  our  old  sleds." 

He  was  trying  to  throw  off  his 
black  mood.  Lighting  his  cigar  again, 
he  lounged  among  the  comfortably 
piled  pillows  that  Mr.  "White  had  left, 
preparing  to  spend  an  hour  in  remi- 
niscence and  small  talk.  Mr.  Beck- 
ington,  however,  knew  his  nature  too 
well  not  to  realize  that  there  was 
something  wrong  with  him. 

"Is  there  anything  the  matter,  old 
man  ?  "  he  said,  still  looking  out  of  the 
window.  "You  haven't  been  your- 
self for  the  last  few  days — I  suppose 
it's  the  old  story." 

It  was  a  brutal  way  of  speaking, 
34 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

but  he  was  trying  not  to  appear  too 
much  interested  in  his  friend's  mood. 
The  -words  jarred  on  Philip.  "The 
old  story,"  he  thought;  "what  an 
epitaph  on  a  love  affair — an  old  story  ! 
When  the  story  that  is  so  new  to  us  at 
first  gets  to  be  an  old  story  it  is  old 
enough  to  be  buried  in  its  faded  mem- 
ories." 

There  was  a  chapter  in  Philip  Her- 
ford's  life  so  well  guarded  that  the 
world  knew  nothing  of  it,  a  chapter 
opened  to  only  one  person,  his  old 
college  friend  who  had  been  his  con- 
fidant and  adviser.  It  was  an  old 
story  now.  In  Philip's  senior  year 
the  entire  college  had  been  turned  up- 
side down  with  enthusiasm  and  excite- 
ment over  the  fact  that  Margaret 
Fremiet,  the  great  actress,  was  going 
to  appear  as  Portia  for  three  nights  in 
New  Haven.  What  fortunes  were 

35 


ALIDA 

spent  in  flowers,  what  sums  of  money 
squandered  for  seats  in  the  front  row, 
what  heartburns  and  jealousies,  would 
fill  a  volume.  The  two  friends  went 
together  to  the  play,  and  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  presented  to  Madame 
Fremiet  afterward.  She  was  then 
about  thirty-five,  in  the  very  prime  of 
her  rich  beauty,  full  of  fascination  and 
charm.  She  seemed  not  only  to 
awaken  Philip's  admiration,  but  to  fill 
some  want  in  his  essentially  artistic 
nature.  He  loved  her,  and  in  his 
crazy  boyish  zeal  he  told  her  so.  It 
was  an  altogether  unforeseen  chapter 
of  events.  Philip  Herford,  dreamy, 
artistic,  offered  Margaret  Fremiet  his 
devotion  with  all  the  strength  of  a 
first  love.  But  there  was  one  side  of 
the  question,  however,  that  he  had 
never  entertained — his  love  was  re- 
turned. Marriage  between  them  was 

36 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

impossible;  Margaret's  husband  was 
living,  and  absolutely  refused  to  grant 
her  a  divorce.  Years  went  by;  they 
loved  each  other  with  devotion,  but  no 
breath  of  scandal  had  ever  been  raised 
between  them.  Their  acquaintance 
had  naturally  been  at  glimpses  and 
long  periods,  and  for  the  two  past 
years  before  this  story  opens,  Margaret 
Fremiet  had  been  in  Europe  winning 
fresh  laurels.  She  was  now  playing 
in  New  York,  her  farewell  engage- 
ment, it  was  whispered.  It  was  a 
strange  coil:  she  had  not  changed, 
Philip  had  not  changed,  and  yet  in  the 
two  years  that  she  had  been  away  new 
interests,  new  ties  had  crept  into  his 
life.  He  did  not  feel  their  strength 
until  this  very  afternoon,  when  he 
found  himself  murmuring  words  of 
love  to  another  woman,  words  which 
he  had  suddenly  checked.  Horrified 

37 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

at  their  utterance  and  his  disloyalty  to 
Margaret,  he  had  left  the  girl  quickly, 
half  dazed,  half  stunned  by  the  revela- 
tion of  his  feeling  which  had  swept 
over  him  with  blinding  suddenness. 
When  he  reached  his  rooms  he  found 
a  letter  from  Margaret;  the  one  thing 
for  which  they  had  waited  so  long  had 
happened — her  husband  was  dead. 

The  hideous  farce  of  the  whole  thing 
seemed  burned  into  Philip's  brain. 
He  was  a  faith-breaker,  and,  worst  of 
all,  some  one  had  to  be  sacrificed.  He 
could  not  bear  the  penalty  of  his  weak- 
ness alone.  In  honor  he  was  bound 
to  Margaret  Fremiet,  and  without 
hesitation  he  sat  down  and  wrote  in 
reply  to  her  letter;  but  the  thought  of 
the  morrow,  of  the  gentle  heart  that 
he  would  have  to  break,  came  over 
him  with  a  sense  of  physical  suffering. 

He  looked  up  at  Clarence  now  with 
38 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

an  air  that  baffled  his  friend's  scru- 
tiny. 

"  Do  you  remember  my  first  boyish 
raptures  over  Margaret  ?  "  he  said  with 
a  quiet  smile.  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
the  first  of  all."  He  stood  up  and 
held  out  his  hand  with  a  winning  gest- 
ure. "I  am  sure  you  will  congratu- 
late me,"  he  said  ;  "her  husband  is 
dead;  we  are  going  to  be  married." 

"I'm  awfully  glad,  Philip,"  said 
Mr.  Beckington,  shaking  his  hand 
warmly. 

Inwardly,  however,  he  was  rather 
disappointed.  Much  as  he  had  always 
admired  Margaret  Fremiet,  he  had 
never  quite  understood  Philip's  in- 
fatuation for  her,  and  since  his  own 
marriage  he  had  hoped  that  the  link 
between  them  was  dying  a  natural 
death,  and  that  in  time  Philip  would 
marry  some  good  little  girl  who  would 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

be  all  the  world  to  him.  A  silence 
fell  between  the  two  friends,  as  though 
there  was  nothing  more  to  say. 

1 '  "Well,  I  must  be  going  along ;  good 
night,"  Philip  said  at  last,  carelessly. 
With  his  hand  on  the  door,  however, 
he  turned.  "  There  was  something  I 
wasn't  going  to  say,  but  I  will,"  he 
went  on  quietly.  "I  wish,  Clarence, 
that  you  would  ask  Bertha  to  be  kind 
to  that  little  Miss  Craig,  the  artist.  I 
have  been  going  there  a  good  deal 
lately  and  she  is  very  much  alone  in 
the  world.  There  is  some  trouble 
hanging  over  her  just  now  and  a 
woman  friend  might  help  her." 
Then,  as  if  Mr.  Beckington  had  not 
taken  in  the  full  sense  of  his  words,  he 
looked  at  him  earnestly.  "  It  will  be 
a  reparation  if  Bertha  will  be  kind  to 
her  " — then  he  was  gone. 

Mr.   Beckington  sat  down   by  the 
40 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

fire  again  and  was  so  deep  in  thought 
that  he  did  not  hear  the  door  open 
when  his  wife,  all  rosy  and  cold  from 
the  biting  air,  came  softly  in  and  put 
her  hands  over  his  eyes.  Of  course  it 
was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that 
he  could  guess  who  had  that  tiny  pair 
of  hands,  but  even  when  they  had 
been  kissed  and  his  wife  perched  com- 
fortably on  the  broad  arm  of  his 
chair,  his  face  was  still  grave. 

"  Why,  you  old  bear,  you  don't  seem 
a  bit  glad  that  I've  come  home.  "Were 
you  doing  a  little  thinking  while  I  was 
out  of  the  house  so  I  couldn't  disturb 
you  ?  How  very  solemn  you  look. ' ' 

Mrs.  Beckington  had  been  brought 
up  not  to  ask  questions;  her  brother 
had  come  in  looking  glum  and  grave, 
and  now  she  found  her  husband  in  the 
same  mood.  She  did  not  ask  what 
was  the  matter,  but  waited  to  be  told, 

41 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

and  I  can  say  in  favor  of  this  system 
that  generally  she  was  told. 

"  Philip  is  going  to  be  married,  my 
dear,"  said  Mr.  Beckington,  secretly 
thinking  that  not  all  the  actresses  or 
any  other  celebrated  beauties  were 
quite  as  fine  as  his  own  sweet  wife. 

"  Who  is  he  going  to  marry  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"Margaret  Fremiet." 

"Gracious  goodness!  what  an  ex- 
alted marriage!  She's  awfully  nice, 
though.  But,  Clarence,  why  should 
Philip  look  so  unhappy  when  he's 
going  to  be  married  ?  Did  you  look 
like  that  when  you  were  engaged?  " 

Mr.  Beckington  roared. 

"  I  tried  to  keep  up  a  pretty  cheer- 
ful exterior  when  I  was  with  you," 
he  said,  "  but  I  can  assure  you  that  at 
other  times  I  looked  much  more  un- 
happy than  Philip." 
42 


CHAPTEE  III. 

ALIDA  CRAIG  was  sitting  on  the 
top  of  a  high  ladder  working  at  a  big 
stained-glass  cartoon  that  was  tacked 
on  one  side  of  her  studio  wall.  A 
large  piece  of  tapestry  and  some  bric- 
a-brac  which  had  been  taken  down  to 
make  way  for  the  cartoon  were  piled 
in  an  untidy  heap  on  the  floor,  giving 
the  room  the  air  of  a  workshop. 
There  were  some  very  good  pieces  of 
tapestry  on  the  walls,  the  fruit  of  long 
searches  in  the  back  streets  of  Paris  in 
her  student  days,  and  the  furniture 
was  a  motley  collection  of  chairs  and 
tables,  many  of  which  had  been  bought 

in  the  most  dilapidated  condition  and 
43 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

then  polished  and  put  in  order  as 
read}'-  money  and  opportunity  offered. 
There  were  book  shelves  filled,  alas  ! 
not  with  those  sets  of  polite  litera- 
ture which  no  gentleman's  library 
is  without,  but  with  worn  half-calf 
and  vellum  volumes,  picked  up  on  the 
quays  as  she  loitered  along  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  odd  volumes  of  her  favorite 
authors  bought  from  time  to  tune. 
Although  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
the  big  north  window  still  let  in  a 
flood  of  light  shining  down  on  the 
sleek  brown  head  of  the  owner  of 
these  multifarious  and  original  be- 
longings. 

As  she  sat  on  the  top  of  the  ladder 
in  a  long  blue  work-apron,  with  her 
heavy  hair  unfastened  and  hanging  in 
a  thick  plait  down  her  back,  she  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  little  girl,  she 

looked  so  thin  and  young  and  child- 
44 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

like.  As  she  worked  she  kept  singing 
over  and  over  to  herself  the  faint, 
pathetic  air  of  Berlioz : 

' '  Once  there  was  a  King  of  Thule, 
True  he  was  and  brave." 

A  model,  an  oval-faced,  angelic- 
looking  creature  clad  in  thin  Greek 
drapery,  stood  on  the  platform.  In 
the  intentness  of  keeping  her  pose  her 
face  assumed  an  expression  of  purity 
and  sweetness  that  would  have  aston- 
ished those  who  saw  her  snapping 
black  eyes  and  bewildering  kickings 
in  the  front  row  of  a  comic  opera 
chorus  at  night.  Sometimes  the  girl 
would  talk  slang  and  nonsense,  of  the 
balls  she  had  been  to  and  of  the  com- 
pliments she  had  received,  chatter 
which  Alida  scarcely  heard  in  the  ab- 
sorption of  her  work.  Miss  Matilda 

Tremaine  was  known  in  private  life  as 
45 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Jenny  Brady.  Her  early  life  had  been 
passed  as  the  daughter  of  a  small  poli- 
tician who  kept  a  liquor  saloon  in  the 
Bowery.  She  was  of  the  Bowery  still, 
in  a  certain  rough  honesty.  She  knew 
the  world  and  everything  in  it  at  four- 
teen. She  was  pretty,  vulgar,  unedu- 
cated. Beyond  the  first  row  of  the 
chorus  she  could  never  hope  to  climb. 
Once,  in  a  state  of  financial  depression, 
she  had  taken  to  posing,  and  although 
she  was  not  in  need  now,  she  was  always 
ready  to  sit  for  Alida,  whose  innocence 
and  guilelessness  were  a  source  of  pro- 
found astonishment  to  her.  Her  de- 
votion to  the  little  artist  "who  did 
angels  and  didn't  know  anything" 
was  profound,  and  Alida  would  have 
been  surprised  to  know  that  her  name 
was  held  in  love  and  veneration  by 
three  of  the  friskiest  chorus  girls  in 

the  city. 

46 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

""Why,  she  believes  my  hair  was 
born  auburn,"  she  would  often  say 
to  her  companions. 

Lately  Jenny  Brady  had  consti- 
tuted herself  the  guardian  angel  of 
the  little  artist.  Her  only  theory  of 
life  could  probably  be  explained  in 
"men  are  villains."  From  her 
youngest  days  the  villain  side  had  been 
uppermost  in  her  experience.  Philip 
Herford's  face,  like  that  of  every 
other  notable  man  in  town,  was  per- 
fectly familiar  to  her;  she  knew  of  his 
frequent  visits  to  Alida's  studio,  and 
as  the  winter  wore  away  she  continu- 
ally wondered  what  the  end  might  be. 
If  at  fourteen  Jenny  Brady  had 
known  everything,  at  twenty-two, 
the  age  to  which  she  now  answered, 
her  information  had  been,  increased 
by  a  prodigious  mass  of  gossiping 
detail.  Did  she  not  know  more  of 

47 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

people's  private  lives  than  their  own  im- 
mediate friends — nay,  even  sometimes 
more  than  they  knew  themselves  ?  If 
she  knew  Philip  Herford,  did  she  not 
also  know  Margaret  Fremiet?  Had 
she  not  been  a  Koman  vestal  for  a  sea- 
son in  her  company?  She  watched 
Alida's  face  during  the  winter  bud- 
ding into  new  beauty  and  happiness 
each  day.  Everything  seemed  going 
well,  and  yet  Jenny  had  a  decided 
feeling  that  there  was  going  to  be  a 
tragedy  somewhere,  possibly  because 
of  her  "  villain  "  theory.  Her  feeling 
was  that  if  anything  did  happen  she 
would  act. 

"It's  getting  dark,  you'd  better 
stop  posing,"  said  Alida,  getting  down 
from  the  ladder.  "  You  haven't 
been  talking  this  afternoon,  Jenny; 
have  you  got  a  headache?  " 

She  spoke  half  dreamily,  walking 
48 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

backward  across  the  room,  gazing  at 
the  cartoon  with  glimmered  eyes. 
Her  little  lithe  body  was  poised  with 
the  subtle  grace,  almost  lost  among 
women,  of  one  who  was  absolutely 
unconscious  of  herself,  and  was  used 
to  perfect  physical  freedom.  Her 
long  oval  face  was  full  of  character, 
and  the  strong  marked  chin  gave  it  a 
strength  which  belied  the  softness  of 
the  round  contours  and  the  childlike 
expression  of  her  eyes — deep-set  gray 
eyes,  under  level  artist's  brows,  that 
flashed  with  changing  expression  when 
she  spoke  and  illuminated  her  face 
into  rare  intellectual  beauty.  As  the 
clock  struck  four  she  took  off  her 
apron,  tidied  up  the  room  with  a  few 
wild  strokes,  pinned  a  big  piece  of 
cheesecloth  over  the  cartoon,  and 
rushed  up  the  stairway  to  her  little 

bedroom  to  tidy  her  hair  and  get  into 
49 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

a  presentable  dress.  Her  belt  was 
just  fastened,  and  she  was  getting  a 
last  glimpse  of  herself  in  a  long  glass, 
as  a  woman  will  who  regards  her  ap- 
pearance, when  the  door-bell  rang 
and  she  rushed  down  to  open  it. 

"  I  didn't  know  whether  you'd  like 
to  see  me  so  soon  again,"  said  her 
visitor,  stooping  her  tall  head  to  kiss 
Alida,  "  but  I  have  got  so  used  to  com- 
ing here  in  the  afternoon  that  now 
the  portrait  is  done  I  want  to  come 
just  the  same." 

"Indeed,  I  am  glad  you  came. 
Take  oil  your  things,  Dorothy,  and  we 
will  have  some  tea.  I  have  j  ust  finished 
working." 

Dorothy  Mason  was  one  of  the  type 
of  big,  well-groomed,  healthy  girls 
that  are  such  a  delight  to  the  eyes 
and  the  soul.  She  dropped  her  things 
in  a  heap  on  the  divan,  drew  the  long 

50 


ALIDA   CRAIG 

gloves  off  her  hands,  which  were  spark- 
ling with  rings,  and  dived  into  her 
pocket  for  a  bonbon  box,  which  she 
offered  to  Alida.  Her  admiration  for 
Alida  was  unbounded.  Spoiled  and 
petted  and  brought  up  all  her  life  to 
look  at  the  world  from  the  point  of 
money  and  the  position  it  brought, 
the  little  artist  girl  with  her  sweet,  low 
voice,  correct  ways  and  dainty  woman- 
liness had  completely  overthrown  the 
narrow  and  Philistine  ideas  that 
Dorothy's  parents  had  so  carefully 
inculcated.  Only  eighteen,  she  was 
little  more  than  a  big  little  girl,  and 
was  just  at  the  age  to  adore  an  older 
woman  and  be  easily  influenced  by 
her. 

"May  I  make  the  tea?  You're 
tired  ;  let  me,"  she  said  with  a  supe- 
rior air. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  a  bit  tired;  I've  been 
61 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

sitting  up  on  that  ladder  until  I  am 
glad  to  move  around.  Do  you  think 
you  would  spoil  your  regal  garments 
if  you  came  with  me  into  the  kitchen  ? 
It's  Chloe's  afternoon  out,  and  I  have 
promised  to  make  a  pudding  for  din- 
ner. It  will  only  take  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  we  will  toast  some  muffins." 

She  led  the  way  as  she  spoke,  to 
the  tiny  kitchen  of  the  apartment, 
a  diminutive  room  fitted  with  a  little 
range  and  tubs.  A  shining  kettle 
hissed  upon  the  fire  and  a  burnished 
"batterie  de  cuisine"  hung  on  the 
wall.  There  were  some  thriving 
geraniums  too  in  the  window,  where 
they  caught  the  sunshine.  Alida  took 
great  pride  in  these  thrifty  plants  and 
always  spoke  of  them  as  her  conserva- 
tory. 

"What  a  dear  place,"  cried  Dor- 
othy enthusiastically.  "  It  looks  like 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

a  doll's  kitchen.  How  cunning  the 
shining  kettles  are,  hung  up  by  their 
tails.  Our  kitchen  is  perfectly  horrid 
down  in  the  basement,  and  the  cook 
is  so  cross  that  I  wouldn't  go  down 
there  for  anything." 

"Do  you  think  it  is  a  pretty 
room?"  said  Alida,  as  she  walked 
around  collecting  her  dishes  and  ma- 
terials for  the  pudding. 

She  was  very  much  pleased,  for 
Alida,  for  all  her  childlike  deportment 
seeming,  had  the  most  decided  views 
regarding  the  decoration  of  the  three 
rooms  that  formed  her  "  house."  She 
was  far  from  believing  in  the  theory 
that  presents  a  "  cinnamon  pink 
to  a  dying  Chinaman,"  but  she  be- 
lieved that  a  kitchen  had  just  as  much 
right  to  be  pretty  and  attractive  in  its 
own  limits  as  any  other  room.  She 
had  brought  the  shining  copper  casse- 

53 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

roles  over  from  Paris  quite  as  much, 
because  they  made  an  artistic  back- 
ground for  her  big  black  servant  as 
because  they  were  good  to  cook  in. 
The  little  place  boasted  only  one  chair, 
and  Dorothy  sitting  in  it  before  the 
range  filled  up  most  of  the  room. 
Alida  rolled  up  her  sleeves,  tied 
Chloe's  enormous  apron  around  her 
slender  waist,  and  began  sifting  flour 
and  beating  eggs  in  a  businesslike 
manner.  Dorothy  sat  tipping  back 
in  the  deal  chair,  her  mouth  filled 
with  raisins,  and  indulged  in  a  rhap- 
sody concerning  the  wonderfulness  of 
the  young  woman  whose  talents  in- 
cluded stained-glass  windows,  paint- 
ing portraits,  making  her  own  clothes 
and  puddings.  Alida  was  used  to  the 
girl's  admiration — so  used  that  gener- 
ally she  simply  changed  the  subject 
by  diverting  her  friend's  mind  into 

54 


ALIDA    CRAIO 

some  other  channel.  There  had  been 
growing  up  in  her  mind  during  the 
past  weeks  a  real  love  and  interest  in 
the  big,  amiable  girl. 

Perhaps  Alida  was  really  more  tired 
than  she  thought,  perhaps  it  was  only 
a  desire  for  a  little  sympathy,  but  as 
she  mixed  the  eggs  into  the  flour  with 
the  big  spoon,  her  face  wore  a  very 
grave  and  sweet  expression. 

"Dorothy,  you  mustn't  envy  me," 
she  said.  "Although  I  am  awfully 
happy,  it's  taken  years  and  years  of 
hard  work  learning  to  do  the  things 
that  you  think  so  original.  Do  you 
know  I  would  give  it  all,  the  best  pic- 
ture that  I  have  ever  painted,  or  shall 
paint,  to  be  able  to  look  back  to  the 
happy  childhood  that  you  are  having  ? 
I  never  had  any  girlhood ;  it  was  all 
hard  work  and  dingy  studios.  Do 
you  remember  talking  the  other  day 

55 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

of  the  pretty  things  you  were  going 
to  wear  to  the  Patriarchs'  ?  I  really 
envied  you.  I  am  twenty-five  and  I've 
never  been  to  a  ball." 

"  Why,  you  dear  little  thing,"  cried 
Dorothy,  bounding  out  of  her  chair 
and  putting  her  arms  around  Alida, 
regardless  of  the  flour  and  the  pud- 
ding. "  Haven't  you  really  ever  been 
to  a  ball?  "  Then  in  a  tone  of  real 
sympathy:  "  Didn't  you  have  a  com- 
ing-out tea?" 

"Coming-out  tea!  When  I  was 
your  age  I  had  one  gown  and  two 
paint  aprons.  Chloe  and  I  lived  in  a 
tiny  apartment  under  an  attic  roof  in 
Paris."  She  poured  the  beaten  egg 
over  the  top  of  the  pudding  with 
reckless  haste ;  the  mention  of  the  by- 
gone years  disturbed  her.  ' '  Coming- 
out  tea!  "  she  continued,  putting  the 

pudding  in  the  oven;  "I'd  have  been 
56 


thankful  for  any  kind  of  a  tea.  Al- 
though I'm  so  thin  I've  an  enormous 
appetite,  and  most  of  the  time  I  was 
positively  hungry.  Don't  mind  my 
getting  excited  over  the  recollection 
of  it,"  she  said  apologetically. 

"Mind?"  There  were  positively 
tears  in  Dorothy's  blue  eyes.  "You 
are  so  little  and  frail-looking  that 
when  you  break  out  in  that  bitter 
way  it  makes  me  feel  dreadfully. 
You  ought  to  have  had  some  one  look 
after  you;  it's  terrible  for  a  girl  to 
work  so  hard.  Alida,  were  you  ever 
engaged  ?  ' '  she  said  abruptly. 

The  pudding  scarcely  needed  atten- 
tion yet,  but  Alida  stooped,  opened 
the  oven  door,  and  turned  the  dish 
around  before  she  answered. 

"No,  my  dear." 

" Not  even  the  least  little  bit?  "  in 
a  tone  of  disappointment. 

57 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"No,  I'm  afraid  not  even  the  least 
little  bit.  One  of  the  men  in  the 
studio  used  to  wash  my  paint  brushes 
every  afternoon.  He  was  a  big  Eng- 
lishman and  painted  very  badly  in  the 
English  way;  he  didn't  even  wash 
paint  brushes  well.  I  couldn't  pos- 
sibly have  been  in  love  with  any  one 
who  did  such  awful  work.  I'm  afraid 
I  have  been  too  busy  to  have  had 
many  romances." 

11  I've  been  engaged  for  two  years," 
said  Dorothy,  with  a  grave  air  with 
which  she  had  been  told  it  was  suit- 
able to  enter  a  ballroom.  She  seemed 
quite  to  fill  the  little  room  with  pride 
and  dignity. 

' '  You !  You're  only  eighteen, ' '  said 
Alida.  Then  she  saw  that  Dorothy 
was  really  in  earnest,  and  in  a  moment 
she  was  all  sympathy  and  sweetness, 
and  Dorothy,  who  for  all  her  money 

58 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

and  position,  English  accent  and  dig- 
nified demeanor,  was  really  at  heart 
only  a  schoolgirl,  with  many  explana- 
tions and  apologies,  told  a  long  story 
that  without  its  many  digressions 
would  have  run  something  like  this : 

When  she  had  outgrown  her  pretty 
baby-girl  stage  and  was  not  yet  big 
enough  to  "come  out,"  her  mother 
had  sent  her  to  a  school  in  New 
Haven  to  be  "finished."  It  was  one 
of  those  silly  fashionable  schools 
which  with  all  the  talk  about  modern 
education  still  flourish.  The  girls  vied 
with  each  other  in  the  possession  of 
luxurious  toilet  articles  and  under- 
wear, and  the  literary  standard  was 
principally  that  of  the  Duchess  and 
Dora  Thome.  Dorothy's  head  was 
filled  with  the  manly  heroes  described 
by  those  vacuous  authors.  At  the 

school's  monthly  receptions,  at  which 
59 


ALIDA    GBAia 

the  girls  were  allowed  to  see  their 
brothers  and  cousins,  she  fell,  in  her 
funny  little  girl  way,  desperately  in 
love  with  a  large  and  amiable  young 
man  who  was  the  captain  of  the  foot- 
ball team.  She  was  such  a  child  that 
she  took  the  greatest  pride  in  his 
being  a  sophomore,  and  felt  that  she 
could  never  have  been  in  love  with  a 
mere  freshman,  as  some  of  the  girls 
were.  She  was  large  and  developed 
for  her  age,  and  at  fifteen  was  a  prac- 
tised coquette,  her  mind  stored  with 
romances,  and  yet  under  it  all  a  warm, 
loving  heart  capable  of  enduring  affec- 
tion if  it  was  really  touched.  The 
big  sophomore  grew  to  be  a  yet  bigger 
senior,  and  he  was  more  in  love  with 
her  than  she  with  him.  Before  his 
last  term  was  out,  in  the  profoundest 
secrecy  these  two,  who  had  never  met 
excepting  under  the  eyes  of  a  squad 

60 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

of  teachers  and  some  forty  school- 
girls, were  engaged. 

Alida  was  a  good  deal  surprised  at 
the  revelation.  She  knew  her  friend  to 
be  a  great  heiress,  and  the  story  savored 
to  her  of  unpleasant  complications. 

* '  Doesn't  even  your  mother  know  ?" 
she  said  at  last  as  Dorothy  paused. 

"No;  do  you  suppose  I  was  going 
to  be  engaged  before  I  came  out?" 
suddenly  dropping  from  her  romantic 
mood  into  calculating  calmness. 
' '  Every  one  would  have  called  us  the 
babes  in  the  wood,  as  they  did  Alice 
Larkin  last  year.  No,  indeed;  it's 
such  fun  being  secretly  engaged,  so 
exciting  meeting  for  a  moment  on  the 
stairs,  or  in  the  conservatory  at  a 
dance,  and  to  have  to  pretend  we  aren't 
glad  when  we  have  been  sent  into  din- 
ner together.  Oh,  he's  been  so  ter- 
ribly jealous." 

61 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"  You  funny  girl,  one  moment  you 
are  all  for  romance  and  the  next  you 
are  so  practical.  I  don't  understand 
you  one  bit,"  said  Alida. 

Dorothy  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  excitedly.  The  romantic  in  her 
nature  was  strong.  Lydia  Languish 
no  more  truly  sighed  over  the  degen- 
eracy of  chivalry  than  this  Fifth 
Avenue  maiden.  After  the  wild  ex- 
citement, the  makeshifts  to  get  letters, 
the  clandestine  meetings,  the  way  she 
had  had  to  plan  and  manoeuvre  for 
the  last  two  years,  she  felt  that  it 
would  be  too  dull  and  commonplace  to 
come  down  to  being  labelled  engaged. 

"I've  worn  my  engagement  ring 
around  my  neck  for  two  years,  and  it 
would  seem  stupid  to  wear  it  on  my 
finger  now,"  she  said,  with  withering 
scorn  at  Alida's  commonplace  advice. 

As  she  spoke  she  slipped  a  pretty  dia- 
62 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

mond  and  sapphire  ring  off  a  ribbon 
that  was  under  her  dress  and  handed 
it  to  Alida.  "  Sapphire  means  con- 
stancy," said  Dorothy.  "You  may 
read  the  inscription." 

It  was  getting  quite  dark,  but  Alida 
knelt  down  before  the  kitchen  fire 
and  held  the  ring  in  a  blaze  of  light. 

"  '  Dorothy  from  J.  A.,'  "  she  said 
softly;  "'November  1,  1890.'  Dor- 
othy, do  you  know  anything  about  J. 
A.?  I  am  older  than  you,  dear,  and 
although  I  don't  know  much  about 
the  world,  I'm  sure  with  your  fortune 
you  ought  to  be  very  careful." 

Dorothy's  face  grew  grave. 

"  Yes,  dear,  that's  just  it,"  she  said. 
"  Mamma  has  always  told  me  how  aw- 
ful men  are  and  that  they  would  want 
to  marry  me  for  my  money.  Don't 
you  think  I  can  be  pretty  sure  of  a 
man  who  loved  me  when  I  was  a 

63 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

schoolgirl  with  those  awful  half -long 
dresses  and  two  thin  pigtails?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  think  you  could;  and 
if  J.  A.  is  Mr.  Ashley,  who  has  been, 
I  have  been  told,  your  devoted  slave 
this  winter,  it  is  all  right,  but  I'd  tell 
my  mother  if  I  were  you." 

"  I'll  think  about  it, "  said  Dorothy. 
Then  she  noticed  how  dark  it  was 
getting.  The  two  girls  had  been  so 
busy  talking  they  had  completely  lost 
track  of  the  time.  Dorothy  could  not 
think  of  waiting  to  have  any  tea  now, 
and  she  put  on  her  jacket  and  straight- 
ened her  hat  before  the  little  Venetian 
mirror  in  the  studio.  They  went  to 
the  door  together,  and  as  Alida  put  up 
her  face  to  kiss  Dorothy  good-by,  she 
paused  for  a  moment  and  then  said: 

"Dorothy,  I  never  had  many  girl 
friends.  It's  so  sweet  in  you  to  come 

and  see  me  so  often,  and  for  you  to 
64 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

tell  me  about  your  engagement,  that  it 
doesn't  seem  quite  fair  for  me  to  say 
that  I  have  never  been  engaged. 
Dorothy,  dear,  you  mustn't  be  sur- 
prised if  some  day  quite  soon  I  tell 
you  that  I  am  engaged  too." 

Alida  went  back  to  the  studio,  which 
was  now  full  of  deep  shadows.  She 
drew  the  curtain  over  the  big  window, 
carried  her  little  tea  table  close  to  the 
fire,  and  set  the  pretty  brass  kettle 
singing  on  the  spirit  lamp.  Then  she 
went  to  the  kitchen,  took  the  pudding, 
that  was  now  a  beautiful  brown,  out 
of  the  oven,  and  fussed  around  putting 
away  the  dishes  that  she  had  used. 
She  was  evidently  waiting  for  some 
one,  and  when  the  door-bell  rang  she 
went  to  open  the  door  with  a  slightly 
flushed  face,  perhaps  from  the  heat  of 
the  fire. 

Philip  Herford  came  into  the  room 
65 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

as  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  coming 
in  almost  every  day  for  several  weeks 
past.  As  he  said  good-afternoon  he 
stooped  and  kissed  the  tips  of  her  soft 
fingers.  She  remembered  the  feeling 
of  his  lips  and  his  beard  brushing  her 
hand  for  many  days  afterward.  He 
went  and  sat  in  his  accustomed  seat 
by  the  fire  and  Alida  made  the  tea. 
They  did  not  speak.  The  girl  was  filled 
with  a  happy,  still  contentment  that 
made  her  loath  to  break  the  silence. 
Their  acquaintance  had  come  about 
through  Philip  having  bought  one  of 
her  pictures,  and,  as  was  his  way,  he 
had  sought  out  the  artist,  thinking 
perhaps  that  he  might  be  of  further 
service.  He  was  as  much  amazed  to 
discover  the  author  of  his  picture  in 
this  little  brown -haired  girl  living  in 
her  studio  and  work,  attended  by  the 

faithful  Chloe,  as  though  she  had  been 
66 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

an  enchanted  princess  in  a  fairy 
tower.  Their  acquaintance  might 
have  never  got  beyond  the  formal 
stage  had  not  a  man — one  of  those 
odious,  well-fed  creatures  who  con- 
sider that  because  a  woman  works  for 
her  living  she  is  common  prey  for 
their  evil  tongues  and  malice — given 
vent  in  Philip's  hearing  to  the  mali- 
cious report  that  a  well-known  artist, 
whose  style  resembled  Alida's  prin- 
cipally because  they  had  admired — and 
studied  under — the  same  master, 
painted  all  her  pictures. 

Philip  rose  to  her  vindication.  He 
was  powerful  enough  to  stop  the 
man's  lying  tongue,  but  the  rumor  of 
course  had  reached  the  girl's  ears,  and 
it  was  one  of  the  darkest  times  of  her 
life.  Then,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
lonely,  parentless  existence,  she  had  a 
protector,  and  a  strong  one.  They 

67 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

became  friends.  She  was  so  away 
from  the  world,  so  wrapped  in  her 
work  and  dreams,  more  protected  by 
them,  indeed,  than  by  the  most  be- 
jewelled dowager  of  the  Patriarchs', 
that  their  friendship  moved  along  as 
calmly  as  though  no  question  of  sex 
had  been  raised  between  them.  They 
read  books  together,  talked  poetry 
and  of  the  paintings  of  the  Louvre 
and  Florence,  never  of  life  of  which 
the  girl  knew  nothing;  all  was  of  art 
and  the  beautiful  things  of  which  she 
knew  so  much. 

Then  one  afternoon,  when  Philip's 
calls  in  the  dusk  had  been  getting 
more  and  more  frequent,  something 
happened — how  they  never  knew.  A 
touching  of  hands  unconsciously  over 
a  book,  and  Philip  broke  out  in  a  mad 
babble  of  love  words,  and  the  girl 

heard  him,  and  her  heart  sang  and  she 
68 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

put  up  her  face  like  a  child  to  be  kissed, 
and  loved  him  forever.  It  was  only 
yesterday,  but  as  she  sat  beside  the 
little  tea  table  watching  the  steam 
pour  out  of  the  kettle,  she  felt  as 
though  they  had  always  loved  each 
other,  and  that  all  the  sorrow  and  bit- 
terness of  her  early  years  was  melted 
away.  The  tea  was  ready,  and  she 
put  the  sugar  in  the  cups  and  carefully 
lifted  the  teapot.  Philip  roused  him- 
self and  laid  his  hand  over  hers  on  the 
handle. 

"I  don't  want  any  tea,  Alida,  I 
want  to  talk  to  you, ' '  he  said. 

"Yes?  "smiling. 

"  I  am  going  away,  dear." 

" Isn't  it  very  sudden? — you  didn't 
think  of  going  yesterday." 

"  "When  I  said  I  was  going  away,  I 
did  not  mean  I  was  going  on  a  jour- 
ney. Alida" — his  face  contracted 
69 


ALIDA    CRAIO 

with  pain — "I  am  going  to  tell  you 
something,  dear" — he  stopped — "I 
love  you,"  he  said  passionately,  "I 
have  said  it  and  nothing  will  make 
me  unsay  it." 

Alida,  wondering,  came  and  knelt 
down  by  his  chair. 

"I  told  you  that  I  loved  you  yes- 
terday," she  said  with  a  little  flush; 
"do  you  expect  me  to  tell  you  so 
every  day?" 

Philip  looked  down  into  her  little 
face.  Her  heart  beat  nervously  with 
a  foreboding  of  coming  evil.  He  put 
his  arm  around  her  lovingly  and  laid 
one  of  his  large,  soft  hands  tenderly 
over  her  eyes  as  though  to  blot  out  his 
image  as  he  spoke. 

"  Alida,  dear,  I  shall  never  ask  you 
to  tell  me  so  again.  Never  again 
shall  I  kiss  you  or  hold  your  hands  or 

even  come  here.     I  ought  not  to  have 
70 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

spoken  as  I  did  yesterday. ' '  He  could 
feel  every  nerve  in  the  girl's  soft  body 
quiver  with  pain. 

Then  she  raised  her  head  and  looked 
him  full  in  the  eyes.  She  had  borne 
poverty,  hunger,  and  cold,  slights  and 
disappointments;  it  had  made  her 
strong  to  endure  suffering. 

"  Tell  me,  dear,"  she  said. 

"  "When  I  was  a  mere  college  lad  I 
fell  in  love  with  a  very  lovely  woman, 
a  married  woman.  You  know  I  am 
much  older  than  you  are,  Alida,  and 
of  course  a  man  of  my  age  has  many 
things  in  his  past  life.  This  lady  is 
one  of  the  best  and  noblest  women  I 
have  ever  known.  Her  husband  has 
just  died — do  you  realize  that  I  can 
marry  no  one  else,  that  I  am  bound  to 
her  by  every  tie  of  honor?  " 

"Yes."      The    word    came    dully 

through  the  girl's  parched  lips. 
71 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"  Forgive  me,  Alida;  forget  that 
mad  hour  yesterday." 

The  girl  rose  from  her  knees;  draw- 
ing her  slender  body  up  straight  like 
a  reed,  her  eyes  flashed. 

"No,"  she  said,  clinching  her  little 
hands  together  in  passion.  "  Forgive 
you — what  for?  For  giving  me  the 
happiest  hours  of  my  life?  Forget 
what  you  said  yesterday — no !  that  is 
my  half  hour,  all  that  I  shall  have  to 
live  on  all  my  life.  You  may  marry 
whom  you  will,  but  that  half  hour  you 
loved  me,  you  were  mine. "  The  flash 
died  out  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come; 
her  face  grew  white  again,  she  put 
out  her  hand  with  a  pathetic  move- 
ment of  weariness,  steadying  herself 
against  the  back  of  a  chair.  "You 
mustn't  mind  so,  Philip;  it's  not  so 
hard  for  me  as  you  think.  I've  never 
been  very  happy.  I've  been  alone  all 

72 


SHE  DROPPED   INTO   A  CIIAIR,  COVERED   HER  FACE  WITH   HER  HANDS, 
AND   SOBBED.      (P.  73.) 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

my  life.  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  like  other 
girls  who  have  homes  and  people  to 
love  them — no  one  has  ever  loved  me 
but  Chloe  and  you. ' '  Her  voice  broke 
into  a  sob;  she  pushed  the  heavy 
masses  of  hair  away  from  her  fore- 
head. "  Now  I  have  only  Chloe." 

"  Alida,  you  will  break  my  heart — 
don't  you  realize — don't  tempt  me, 
dear." 

' '  Tempt  you  ? — no.  The  man  I  love 
will  do  what  is  right.  You  must  go 
now." 

She  held  up  her  hand  to  say  good- 
by ;  the  ghost  of  a  smile  played 
around  her  mouth. 

"Good-by." 

"Good-by." 

Her  courage  gave  out  at  last;  she 
dropped  into  a  chair,  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  sobbed. 

"I  cannot  let  you  go,"  she  said. 
73 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Philip  came  back  ;  he  knelt  down 
by  her  chair  in  the  dark,  he  passed 
his  hands  over  her  hair  and  eyes 
and  hands  and  kissed  the  folds  of  her 
dress. 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  little  love," 
he  said,  and  then  left  her. 


74 


CHAPTEK  IY 

MADAME  FKEMIET  sat  in  her  apart- 
ment at  the  Plaza  reading  a  letter  that 
she  certainly  must  have  known  by 
heart,  for  she  had  read  it  many  times 
already.  Her  eyes  would  stray  out 
of  the  window  with  its  attractive 
vista  of  the  Park  drive,  and  then  she 
would  read  the  letter  over  again.  She 
examined  the  paper  on  which  it  was 
written,  scrutinized  the  handwriting, 
and  even  laid  it  up  against  the  glass 
to  see  the  water-mark.  All  her  efforts, 
however,  were  unavailing ;  the  paper 
bore  the  common  mark  of  Marcus 
Ward  &  Co.,  Belfast.  The  handwrit- 
ing was  a  woman's  ordinary  running 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

hand  and  gave  no  clue  to  the  station 
or  character  of  the  writer.  Ordina- 
rily the  recipient  of  a  letter  has  only 
to  turn  to  the  end  of  the  last  page  to 
find  out  who  the  writer  is,  but  in  this 
case  it  was  different — it  was  anony- 
mous. Margaret  had  received  so 
many  in  the  course  of  her  life  she  was 
rather  surprised  to  find  she  was  so 
disturbed  over  this  one.  It  read: 

"  MY  DEAR  MADAME  FKEMIET: 

"  You  will  pardon  the  liberty  of 
my  addressing  you  in  this  abrupt 
manner,  but  I  think  you  ought  to  know 
that  your  devoted  admirer,  Mr.  Her- 
ford,  has  during  your  absence  in 
Europe  been  paying  a  great  deal  of 
attention  to  another  young  lady.  As 
she  is  an  orphan,  living  by  herself, 
with  but  few  friends,  I  have  taken 
this  opportunity  to  clear  up  her  posi- 
tion regarding  Mr.  Herford,  as  it  may 
be  a  source  of  great  unhappiness  to 

76 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

her  in  the  future.  Please  believe  that 
not  malicious  intentions  but  a  sincere 
love  for  the  young  lady  in  question, 
who  is  Miss  Alida  Craig,  an  artist 
whose  studio  is  in  the  Sherburne 
Building,  prompts  me  to  write  you. 
I  am  also  a  sincere  admirer  of  your 
great  talents  and  noble  character. 
"Believe  me, 

' 'Very  sincerely, 

"UNKNOWN." 

Madame  Fremiet  finally  rose  as  if 
to  shake  off  the  sting  of  the  words. 
She  threw  the  note  in  the  fire  and 
began  to  dress.  Even  in  the  glare  of 
the  afternoon  sun  which  poured  hotly 
into  the  room  she  was  still  a  very 
handsome  woman.  Her  face  was 
unwrinkled,  and  the  neck  and  shoul- 
ders that  rose  from  the  billowy  lace 
of  her  dainty  dressing  jacket  were  as 
fair  as  a  girl's.  As  she  stood  in  front 
of  the  glass  twisting  up  her  hair,  which 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

was  heavy  and  abundant,  she  laughed, 
turning  herself  around  on  her  toes. 
It  was  so  absurd  to  think  of  Philip 
Herford  caring  for  any  other  woman. 
Had  she  not  been  his  first  love  ?  Was 
he  not  the  king  of  all  good  men  in 
her  eyes  ?  Had  they  not  loved  each 
other  and  been  separated  all  these 
years  without  the  shadow  of  chang- 
ing between  them?  She  laughed  at 
the  letter,  and  still  it  stung  her.  She 
dressed  quickly  without  the  assistance 
of  her  maid,  twisting  her  hair  up  in  a 
coil  that  characterized  the  beauty  of 
her  profile  and  the  poise  of  her  head. 
Then  she  put  on  a  plain  street  dress, 
and,  as  she  always  did  when  anything 
was  on  her  mind,  and  which  probably 
accounted  largely  for  the  remarkable 
preservation  of  her  beauty,  went  out 
for  a  walk,  thinking  that  the  cool  fresh 

air  would  clear  away  the  troubles  of 

78 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

her  mind.  The  color  rose  in  her 
cheeks  as  she  walked  along,  mak- 
ing her  look  almost  girlish  in  her 
simple  dress.  People  turned  to  look 
at  her,  she  was  so  handsome  and 
walked  in  such  a  free,  graceful  way, 
unmindful  of  anything  but  the  en- 
joyment of  physical  exercise.  She 
had  not  gone  many  blocks  before 
she  stopped.  She  had  been  trying  to 
recollect  in  a  dim  way  where  she  had 
heard  the  name  of  Miss  Craig  before, 
and  as  she  passed  the  Masons'  house 
the  "correlation  of  ideas,"  as  Her- 
bert Spencer  would  call  it,  suddenly 
became  complete.  Was  not  Dorothy 
Mason's  portrait  being  painted  by 
Miss  Craig  ?  Madame  Fremiet  imme- 
diately turned  up  the  Masons'  steps 
and  rang  the  bell,  and  had  the  good 
fortune  to  find  Mrs.  Mason  in  the  par- 
lor with  her  bonnet  on,  just  ready  to 
79 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

go  out  to  a  meeting  of  one  of  the  hun- 
dred societies  with  useless  objects  to 
which  she  belonged.  She  was  chair- 
man of  the  meeting,  but  she  let  it  wait 
for  a  few  minutes'  chat  with  Madame 
Fremiet. 

Madame  Fremiet  did  not  know  ex- 
actly why  she  had  come,  or  just  what 
she  intended  to  do  regarding  the 
anonymous  letter,  or  what  use  she 
would  make  of  the  Masons'  connec- 
tion with  and  knowledge  of  Miss 
Craig.  Had  Mrs.  Mason  not  been 
going  out  she  would  probably  have  sat 
around  for  a  while,  talked  of  their 
thousand  friends  and  the  mutual  chit- 
chat that  women  have  in  common,  and 
finally,  bringing  the  conversation 
around  to  Dorothy's  portrait,  found 
out  what  Mrs.  Mason  had  to  say  con- 
cerning the  artist.  Now,  however,  the 

meeting  waited ;  there  was  nothing  for 
80 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

her  to  do  but  to  plainly  ask,  if  she 
wished  her  curiosity  satisfied  concern- 
ing Alida.  She  therefore  told  Mrs. 
Mason  that  she  had  been  so  charmed 
with  Dorothy's  portrait  that  she 
would  like  very  much  to  have  the 
same  young  lady  paint  a  head  of  her- 
self. Mrs.  Mason  was  delighted  at 
the  success  of  her  protegee;  she  would 
have  liked  to  let  the  meeting  go  with- 
out a  chairman  and  take  Margaret 
herself  to  Alida's  studio  then  and 
there;  she  finally  persuaded  Madame 
Fremiet  to  go  by  herself,  and  the 
two  ladies  got  into  Mrs.  Mason's 
carriage,  and  Madame  Fremiet  was 
dropped  at  the  big  building  where 
Alida  had  her  studio. 

I  have  often  thought,  concerning  the 
picturesque  and  beautiful  tale  of  Elaine 
dying  for  love  of  Sir  Lancelot,  that 
its  mediaeval  setting  alone  rendered  it 

81 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

possible  or  probable.  Towers  were 
probably  damp,  and  the  society  and 
amusements  of  mediaeval  women  so 
limited  that  there  were  few  distrac- 
tions. Young  men  too  were  not  ex- 
tremely plentiful;  they  were  mostly 
at  the  wars  fighting  the  heathen.  A 
modern  Elaine  having  met  Sir  Lance- 
lot would  have  found,  though  he  rode 
away  from  his  mother's  house  at  seven 
o'clock,  that  at  eight  she  must  get 
ready  to  go  to  a  dance  or  theatre 
party.  Then  there  would  have  been 
the  thousand-and-one  duties  and  pleas- 
ures which  she  absolutely  could  not 
forego  just  for  the  sake  of  embroider- 
ing a  Kensington  art  square  for  his 
shield.  In  the  due  course  of  time, 
though  she  might  never  have  thought 
that  any  man  was  in  any  way  equal 
to  Lancelot,  she  would  probably,  in- 
stead of  dying  in  the  most  picturesque 
82 


ALIDA    CRAIO 

manner  and  drifting  down  to  Game- 
lot,  have  married  some  one  else,  or  at 
any  rate  engrossed  herself  in  the  many 
questions  of  the  day  and  hour,  so  that 
her  life,  far  from  being  ended  with  her 
one  serious  love  affair,  might  rather 
be  said  to  have  been  opened  and  en- 
nobled by  it.  There  be  Lancelots 
and  Elaines,  but  if  Elaine  has  to  work 
for  her  daily  bread  the  universe 
will  not  feed  her  because  Lancelot 
has  ridden  away. 

Alida  had  been  trying  to  work  all 
day  long,  but  there  was  no  sitting  up 
on  top  of  the  big  ladder  and  singing 
as  she  had  done  the  day  before.  She 
was  physically  numb  and  weary,  and 
sat  on  a  little  stool  in  a  heap  close  to 
the  floor  doing  a  conventional  design 
across  the  bottom  of  the  cartoon. 
Every  now  and  then  she  would  stop 
working  and  lean  her  aching  head 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

against  the  canvas.  It  would  only  be 
for  a  moment,  then  she  would  shake 
herself  and  go  on.  It  would  never  do 
to  break  down. 

Chloe  was  washing  the  kitchen  floor 
and  singing;  the  splash  of  the  water 
and  the  old  woman's  droning,  plaintive 
song  grated  on  her  nerves.  The  clock 
struck  the  hour  slowly  with  its  pretty, 
joyful  French  chime,  the  hour — just 
about  the  hour  when  Philip  always 
came ;  but  he  would  never  come  again. 
Her  heart  almost  stopped  beating  with 
sick,  faint  dread,  and  hope  as  the  bell 
rang  as  usual.  Of  course  it  must  be 
some  one  else,  yet  she  could  not  wait 
for  Chloe ;  she  answered  the  door  her- 
self, and  there  stood  a  tall,  simply 
dressed  lady,  whose  handsome  face 
struck  her  as  oddly  familiar. 

As  Madame  Fremiet  in  her  most 

winning  manner  murmured  explana- 
84 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

tions  and  her  introduction  through 
Mrs.  Mason,  she  thought  how  strange 
it  was  that  this  little  slip  of  a  girl, 
with  her  large  melancholy  eyes  and 
soulful  face,  should  have  come  to  be 
such  a  factor  in  her  life.  She  doubted 
the  truth  of  the  anonymous  letter  at 
once ;  it  was  simply  a  calumny  against 
herself,  written,  in  spite  of  its  uninter- 
ested avowal,  simply  to  make  mis- 
chief. She  knew  that  Philip  Herf ord 
was  not  a  breaker  of  such  small  girls' 
hearts.  She  sat  down  in  one  of  the 
carved  chairs  and  talked  to  Alida  with 
all  the  winning  charm  that  she  knew 
so  well  how  to  use,  until  the  girl's 
shyness  was  quite  overcome. 

"May  I  ask,"  said  Alida,  "if  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to 
Madame  Fremiet  whom  I  have  seen 
play  so  often?" 

Her  face  lit  up  as  she  spoke,  and 

85 


Margaret  realized  what  a  charm  lay 
in  the  flashing  bright  expression.  The 
tone  of  the  girl's  unexpressed  admira- 
tion went  to  her  heart. 

"Yes,  I  am  Margaret  Fremiet," 
she  said,  looking  around  the  studio 
with  evident  interest.  "Your  por- 
trait of  Dorothy  Mason  is  so  charm- 
ing I  wondered  if  you'd  do  one  of 
me." 

A  surprising  change  came  over 
Alida;  her  languid,  nerveless  air  dis- 
appeared, her  pale  face  flushed,  her 
eyes  grew  dark  and  humid;  another 
young  woman  stood  before  Madame 
Fremiet — an  artist  to  her  finger  tips. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  you  will 
sit  to  me  for  a  portrait  ?  ' '  she  cried. 
"  It  would  be  such  an  opportunity.  I 
have  seen  you  in  every  character  you 
play.  The  first  time  I  went  to  the 

theatre  I    saw  you  play  Juliet — but 
86 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

perhaps  it  bores  you  to  have  me  talk 
about  your  acting?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Margaret.  The 
girl's  ardor  touched  a  deep  chord  in 
her  own  essentially  artistic  nature. 
' '  One  admirer,  whose  opinion  I  value, 
means  more  to  me  than  columns  of 
newspaper  notices.  So  you  saw  me 
play  Juliet.  I  shall  never  play  Juliet 
again.  I  suppose  it  is  a  first  warning 
that  an  actress  gets  that  she  is  no 
longer  young  when  she  realizes  that 
her  Juliet  is  no  longer  as  artistic  as 
it  was.  You  are  fond  of  the  thea- 
tre?" 

"  Oh,  very.  I  have  never  known 
any  one  before  who  played." 

Margaret  leaned  down  comfortably 
in  the  soft  embrace  of  the  big  chair. 
She  was  tired  with  her  walk  and  Mrs. 
Mason's  chatter;  the  studio  seemed 

peaceful  and  quiet.      She  had  come, 
87 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

she  knew  not  why,  in  a  somewhat 
theatrical  mood  which  tickled  her 
sense  of  humor,  to  find  a  RIVAL.  She 
stayed  with  a  sense  of  pleasure,  talk- 
ing to  this  big-eyed,  enthusiastic  child 
as  though  they  had  been  old  friends. 
She  talked  brilliantly  of  the  stage  and 
the  drama,  of  people  she  knew,  while 
Alida  listened  spellbound  and  en- 
chanted. 

"  I  shall  not  act  much  longer,"  she 
said  at  last.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am 
not  well — all's  not  right  here  about 
my  heart,  as  Hamlet  says.  The  rest 
of  my  life,  if  there  is  going  to  be  a 
rest  of  it,  will  have  to  be  a  quiet  one. 
After  my  season  closes  here  I  shall 
only  play  once  in  a  while  for  charity, 
as  Nilsson  does.  But  what  about  the 
portrait?  " 

"Could  I  do  you  in  character  as 

Imogen  or  Portia?     No,  I   think  I 
88 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

would  rather  do  you  just  as  you  sit  in 
that  chair.  Might  I  try  some  back- 
grounds? " 

Margaret  smiled  at  the  girl's  ab- 
sorption in  her  art  as  Alida  opened  a 
big  carved  Fra^ois  I.  chest  and  took 
out  a  great  armful  of  draperies,  the 
flotsam  and  jetsam  of  altar  cloths  and 
fair  ladies'  court  gowns,  silks,  velvets, 
and  rags  that  go  to  make  up  studio 
properties.  One  after  another  was 
pinned  up  on  the  wall  behind  the  great 
carved  chair,  until  at  last  a  fine  piece 
of  Italian  embroidery  threw  out  all 
the  beauty  of  Madame  Fremiet's  rich 
dark  skin,  and  made  her,  even  in  her 
modish  bonnet,  a  veritable  queen. 

Margaret  had  by  this  time  worked 
herself  into  quite  as  great  a  state  of 
enthusiasm  regarding  the  portrait  as 
though  it  had  been  a  matter  of  long 

considered  action  and  not  the  whim  of 
89 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

a  few  hours.  It  was  with  great  regret 
that  she  felt  it  would  be  impossible  to 
give  the  sittings  for  the  picture  before 
her  season  closed,  but  these  last  weeks 
were  being  a  terrible  strain  on  her 
health,  and  she  alone  knew  the  hours 
of  absolute  rest  that  were  necessary  in 
order  that  she  might  appear  herself  for 
a  few  hours  during  the  evening. 

"You  look  tired,"  said  Alida; 
"  can't  I  give  you  a  cup  of  tea?  " 

Margaret  declined,  rising  hastily. 
The  reason  for  her  coming,  which  had 
been  forgotten  in  the  charm  of  the  girl's 
presence,  came  into  her  mind  again. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  she  said. 

But  Alida  did  not  want  her  to  go ; 
her  tone  was  so  pressingly  cordial  that 
Madame  Fremiet  sat  down,  again 
while  the  girl  made  the  tea. 

"  I  am  very  superstitious  about  the 

breaking  of  bread,"  said  Alida.     "I 
90 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

was  so  dull  and  lonely  when  you  came 
in,  and  we  have  had  such  a  charming 
afternoon,  that  I  should  like  to  have 
you  drink  a  cup  of  tea  with  me  for 
companionship. ' ' 

' '  You  are  romantic, ' '  answered 
Margaret;  "a  bad  quality  in  an  un- 
sentimental age.  But  you  have  such 
a  charmingly  miscellaneous  collection 
of  utensils  to  make  your  tea  with  that 
I  can't  refuse  you.  I  don't  doubt 
artistic  tea  is  very  much  better  than 
the  ordinary  kind." 

She  drank  her  tea  with  a  keen  sense 
of  the  humor  of  her  visit,  and  stayed 
for  quite  a  while  longer,  with  kindly 
tact  winning  the  girl  to  talk  of  her 
studio  and  work. 

Alida  forgot  for  a  little  while  the 
sad  tangle  events  had  made  in  her  life 
as  they  talked  of  the  Louvre  and  the 

National  Gallery  and  the  Velasquez 
91 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

portraits  in  Spain,  the  girl's  fine  imag- 
inative sense  of  beauty  quickening 
the  elder  woman's  recollection;  and 
as  Margaret  rose  and  went  away  she 
could  not  help  feeling  an  intense  inter- 
est and  liking  for  this  odd  child  with 
her  dreamy  eyes,  who  talked  of  Ben- 
nozzo  Gozzoli  and  Leonardo  as  other 
girls  do  of  fashions  and  admirers. 

Alida  sat  in  front  of  the  fire  on  the 
little  stool  and  thought  of  her  new 
friend  and  the  portrait — what  a  good 
portrait  she  meant  it  to  be,  that  should, 
in  the  parlance  of  studio  slang,  "go 
thundering  down  the  ages."  It  is 
always  so:  the  portrait  that  is  to  be 
painted  on  the  blank  canvas,  the  poem 
that  is  to  be  written  on  the  paper  which 
is  spotless  as  yet ;  and  even  though  when 
completed  it  may  not  "  thunder  "  any 
more  than  the  work  that  went  before 

it  or  that  will  come  after,  still  cer- 
92 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

tainly  the  feeling  is  a  good  one,  and 
nothing  was  ever  any  the  worse  because 
the  ideal  aimed  at  was  a  little  too  high 
to  be  reached. 

The  studio  was  quite  dark,  and  Alida 
felt  her  thoughts  turning  again  to 
Philip.  She  lit  the  gas  and  busied  her- 
self around  the  room  putting  away  her 
materials  and  cleaning  her  palette. 
Then  she  went  to  the  tea  table,  tak- 
ing up  the  cup  out  of  which  Madame 
Fremiet  had  drank  her  tea.  It  was  a 
pretty  Sevres  cup  marked  with  the  !N" 
of  the  first  Napoleon.  She  turned  it 
round  and  round  as  though  it  was  a 
precious  memento,  then  dipping  it  in 
a  cup  of  warm  water  she  dried  it  care- 
fully with  her  handkerchief  and  placed 
it  on  a  shelf  of  a  little  teak-wood 
cabinet. 

"I  suppose,"  she  thought  to  her- 
self, "that  I've  got  to  get  used  to 

93 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

living  along  every  day  and  getting  as 
much  happiness  and  good  out  of  each 
person  and  thing  as  I  can,  and  be 
thankful.  When  I'm  an  old  lady, 
and  of  course  I  shall  live  to  be  a  very, 
very  old  lady,  I  shall  show  that  cup 
to  people  and  tell  them  that  the  cele- 
brated Madame  Fremiet  drank  tea  out 
of  it.  I  don't  see  quite  why  I  take 
this  so  hard,"  she  went  on,  sitting 
down  by  the  fire  and  gazing  into  the 
hot  ashes.  "  What  a  baby  I  am.  All 
the  life  seems  to  have  been  taken  out 
of  me.  I've  had  harder  times  than 
this,  too;  it  isn't  nearly  as  hard  really 
as  the  time  when  Chloe  was  so  sick  in 
Paris  and  all  the  money  was  gone.  I 
thought  she  would  die  and  leave  me 
alone — then  there  was  that  awful 
night  when  she  was  so  delirious,  when 
I'd  had  nothing  to  eat  all  day  and  a  ter- 
rible storm  came  up  and  almost  blew 
94 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

in  the  windows.  "What  a  wild  night  it 
was.  How  the  wind  blows,"  she 
said,  suddenly  noticing  it  for  the  first 
time. 

The  wind  had  risen  with  the  setting 
sun,  the  skylight  rattled  and  shook, 
and  the  wind  whistled  wildly  around 
the  corners  of  the  high  buildings.  She 
crouched  before  the  fire,  leaning  her 
face  on  her  hands.  Chloe  came  in 
noiselessly  and  set  a  little  table  in  one 
corner  of  the  studio  with  a  dainty 
cloth  and  delicate  china,  laying  the 
one  place  as  carefully  as  for  a  dinner 
party.  Alida  did  not  raise  her  head. 
Then  there  came  a  clatter  of  high 
heels  down  the  hall,  a  rustle  of  skirts, 
and,  late  as  it  was,  Mrs.  Beckington, 
rosy  and  merry,  homeward  bound 
after  a  long  round  of  calls,  came  bus- 
tling into  the  room.  Alida  pushed  up 

her  hair  from  her  forehead  with  a 
95 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

pathetic  gesture  of  brain  fatigue,  try- 
ing to  bring  her  thoughts  and  her  wan 
face  to  a  cordial  greeting  of  her  visi- 
tor. Her  tired  smile  went  to  Mrs. 
Beckington's  heart. 

"  I  was  just  going  by,"  she  chirped 
in  her  high  voice,  "and  I  thought  to 
myself,  there's  Miss  Craig  up  there 
going  to  eat  her  little  dinner  all  by 
herself,  and  I'll  just  carry  her  home 
with  me.  Come,  dear,  jump  into  an- 
other dress  or  bring  it  around  to  my 
house  and  dress  there.  Dorothy 
Mason  and  Mr.  Ashley  are  coming  to 
dinner  and  we  will  have  a  gay  party." 

Alida  did  not  feel  that  she  would  be 
any  very  magnificent  addition  to  a 
gay  party,  but  she  was  not  of  the  type 
of  young  woman  to  shut  herself  up 
and  nurse  her  miseries. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  expect  me  to  be 
very  gay,  will  you?  "  she  said.  "  I've 

96 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

a  bad  headache ;  "  and  she  ran  upstairs 
to  get  her  dress. 

Mrs.  Beckington  was  not  a  very 
profound  soul,  much  given  to  thinking. 
If  she  had  been  she  might  have  moral- 
ized a  little  on  Alida's  characteristic- 
ally womanly  remark,  "  I  have  a  head- 
ache." 

Those  headaches !  What  they  cover 
— physical  pain,  broken  hearts,  anguish 
of  body  and  mind ;  and  still  women,  in 
patient  covering  of  their  miseries,  say, 
and  the  world  believes  them,  "  I  have 
a  headache." 


97 


CHAPTER  Y 

IN  the  evening  Philip  Herford  went 
around  to  the  Beckingtons'  house. 
He  had  dined  at  the  club,  had  talked 
over  the  tariff  and  the  city  govern- 
ment with  a  trio  of  friends,  and  was 
surprised  on  looking  at  his  watch  to 
find  it  still  so  early  in  the  evening. 
He  was  as  much  at  home  at  his  sister's 
as  in  his  own  house,  and  on  being  told 
that  the  family  were  still  at  dinner,  he 
went  up  to  the  library  and  waited  for 
them  to  come  upstairs.  He  looked  idly 
over  Lang's  last  book,  which  lay  on 
the  table,  but  that  clever  gentleman's 
minute  defence  of  the  Homeric  lines 

did  not  prove  of  absorbing  interest ;  he 
98 


IT  WAS  A  WOMAN'S  LONG  SUEDE  GLOVE,    (p.  99.) 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

read  a  few  pages,  and  then,  as  he  laid 
the  volume  down,  his  eyes  were  caught 
by  a  small  object  that  lay  on  the  floor 
at  his  feet.  He  picked  it  up ;  it  was  a 
woman's  long  suede  glove,  a  rather 
small  size,  with  a  faint  perfume  about 
it.  He  patted  the  fingers  out  smooth 
on  his  large  palm,  and  then  laughingly 
put  it  down  on  the  table,  thinking  that 
it  was  one  of  his  careless  little  sister's. 
What  a  sentiment  hovers  over  mate- 
less  gloves ;  how  many  poets  have  writ- 
ten of  them,  how  many  lovers  cher- 
ished them  as  keepsakes!  Philip 
wondered  if  Mr.  Beckington  senti- 
mentalized much  over  his  wife's  gloves 
now  that  he  paid  for  them.  Homer 
and  the  epic  being  after  all  the  only 
source  of  amusement  within  reach, 
he  picked  the  book  up  again  and 
was  deep  in  it  when  his  sister  glided 

noiselessly  through  the  portieres  and 
99 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

startled  him  by  sitting  down  on  the 
arm  of  his  chair. 

"  You  dear  boy,"  she  said,  hugging 
his  head  regardless  of  his  ears  and  the 
smoothness  of  his  hair,  "I've  left 
them  at  dinner  just  to  see  you  alone 
for  a  moment  and  congratulate  you. 
Clarence  has  told  me.  I  am  so  glad !  " 

Philip,  with  an  utter  disregard  of 
his  sister's  finery,  drew  her  down  on 
his  knees  and  held  her  for  a  moment, 
his  cheek  pressed  against  hers,  just  as 
he  used  to  do  when  she  was  a  fat, 
spoiled  baby  and  he  was  a  big  hobble- 
dehoy boy.  When  he  spoke  his  voice 
was  a  little  husky. 

' '  How  very  magnificent  you  are  to- 
night," patting  her  chiffon  ruffles; 
"  have  you  a  dinner  party  ?  " 

"Only  Dorothy  Mason  and  Mr. 
Ashley,  and  " — catching  sight  of  the 
glove — "there's  Miss  Craig's  glove. 

100 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Philip,  I  -was  up  in  Miss  Craig's  studio 
this  afternoon  and  I  brought  her 
down  to  dinner.  She  was  sitting  by 
the  fire  and  looked  so  miserable  and 
blue  that  my  heart  just  ached  for  her. 
I'm  afraid  she  is  in  some  trouble;  she 
has  always  been  so  bright  and  gay 
before.  I  wish  I  knew  her  well  enough 
to  ask  her  confidence,  but  I  don't — 
do  you?" 

"No,"  said  Philip.  He  looked 
down  at  the  floor.  He  had  not  ex- 
pected to  meet  Alida,  had  not  wished 
to  meet  her  so  soon  after  their  sad 
parting  of  the  day  before.  ""We  all 
treat  you  like  a  baby,  Bertha,  you  are 
so  soft-hearted,"  he  said;  "we  only 
have  to  give  you  a  hint,  and  without 
asking  why  or  wherefore  you  do  just 
the  right  thing." 

"  Clarence  said  he  wanted  me  to  be 

nice  to  her.    It's  very  sweet  of  you  to 
101 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

say  I  do  the  right  thing.  I  often 
think  that  I  blunder  around  like  a 
beetle;  you  see  I  just  do  things  with- 
out very  much  reason.  Clarence  laughs 
at  me  so;  he  says  that  I  haven't  a  bit 
of  analytical  mind." 

"No,  dear,  you  haven't,  and  I  am 
glad  of  it.  Deliver  me  from  a  woman 
with  an  analytical  mind.  Now,  if  I 
am  going  to  stay  this  evening,  I  want 
you  to  tell  Miss  Craig  very  quietly 
before  she  comes  upstairs  that  I  am 
here. ' ' 

The  brother  and  sister  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes,  eyes  that  were  such 
a  reflection  of  each  other.  Bertha  got 
up  off  his  knee,  straightened  her 
ruffles,  puffed  up  her  gauze  sleeves,  to 
all  appearance  a  vision  of  beauty  in- 
tent on  rectifying  the  damages  of  a 
bear's  hug.  There  were  bits  of  char- 
acter and  sympathy  in  her  nature, 

102 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

however,  that  were  always  cropping 
up,  even  to  the  astonishment  of  those 
who  knew  her  best.  She  had  almost 
left  the  room  when  she  came  back  and 
laid  her  hand  lightly  on  Philip's  head. 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  tell  me  any- 
thing," she  said,  with  a  little  tremble 
in  her  voice.  "You  don't  need  to. 
You  are  all  the  brother  I've  got,  and 
I  can't  help  saying  that  I  am  sorry, 
oh,  so  sorry,  for  you  and  her." 

She  had  flitted  away  before  Philip 
could  answer. 

"I  am  so  sorry  too,"  thought 
Philip. 

He  did  not  return  to  reading  his 
book.  He  had  thought  of  Alida — how 
could  he  help  it  ?  He  had  known  that 
she  was  suffering,  trying  to  bear  up 
bravely,  but  the  certain  knowledge 
of  it  gave  him  that  sense  of  inability 
to  deal  with  the  circumstances  that 

103 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

he  had  raised  which  often  strikes  one 
when  the  little  breeze  that  one  has 
fanned  becomes  a  whirlwind.  He 
pressed  the  little  glove  that  he  knew 
was  hers  to  his  lips.  In  all  his  life  of 
luxury  and  wealth  of  all  things  that 
satisfy  the  soul  and  mind,  he  had  never 
longed  to  possess  anything  quite  as 
much  as  that  little  glove.  He  kissed 
it  again  and  again. 

"  No,  I  have  no  right  to  you,  little 
glove, ' '  he  thought.  ' i  You  have  been 
wor-n  before ;  your  first  finger  is  rough 
and  soon  you  will  be  worn  out  and 
thrown  away,  but  I  shall  never  have 
the  right  to  replace  you.  Go,  little 
glove,"  he  said,  "and  when  she 
draws  you  up  on  her  soft  arm,  teach 
her  to  forget  one  who  is  unworthy  to 
kiss  her  shoe. ' '  He  laid  the  glove  on 
the  table  and  picked  up  the  book  again, 

envying  the  worn  piece  of  kid  that 
104 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

had  the  right  to  go  home  with  Alida 
and  lie  in  a  fragrant-scented  drawer  in 
her  little  white  room.  His  reveries 
were  soon  interrupted  again  by  a 
swishing  of  skirts  and  a  sound  of 
voices.  Dinner  was  over.  As  they 
mounted  the  stairs  he  could  hear 
Alida' s  voice,  somewhat  higher  and 
more  strained  than  she  usually  spoke, 
tossing  witty  replies  back  to  Mr. 
Beckington. 

They  all  came  into  the  library,  fill- 
ing it  with  mirth  and  chatter.  Philip 
shook  hands  with  Dorothy  and  then 
with  Alida,  who  was  more  self-pos- 
sessed than  he  would  have  believed; 
her  face  was  colorless  and  her  eyes 
hard  and  bright  with  excitement,  but 
she  kept  a  good  hold  of  herself  and 
her  pulse  did  not  beat  one  bit  faster 
for  the  meeting.  In  truth,  Alida  was 
more  happy  than  troubled  over  his 

105 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

being  there.  There  is  a  love  so  great 
that  it  casts  out  all  jealousy,  and  that 
love  was  hers.  She  was  so  used  to 
sorrow  that  one  more  deprivation, 
one  more  hardship,  was  simply  just 
one  thing  more,  the  natural  outcome 
of  the  fate  that  had  pursued  her  from 
her  birth.  To  snatch  a  few  hours' 
happiness  to  see  Philip  with  her  own 
eyes,  to  be  in  the  same  room  with 
him,  was  enough  for  her  starved  heart. 
She  shook  hands  with  him  as  coolly  as 
with  any  other  friend,  and  then  with 
perfect  composure  turned  to  Mr.  Beck- 
ington  and  went  on  talking. 

"  It's  so  nice  of  you  to  think  I  am 
original,"  she  said;  uyou  are  very 
good  about  it,  but  some  people  seem 
to  think  me  a  new  kind  of  animal 
whose  habits  and  customs  are  to  be 
studied  like  Mr.  Crowley's;  they  never 
seem  to  realize  that  I  have  lived  so 

106 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

long  in  studios  and  among  artists 
that  anything  different  seems  original 
to  me.  The  idea  of  living  in  a  whole 
house  strikes  me  as  positively  odd." 

"You  wouldn't  find  it  odd,  my 
dear,"  chirped  Mrs.  Beckington. 
"  You'd  find  it  a  perfect  bore  if  you 
had  to  look  after  a  house.  I'd  like  to 
live  as  you  do,  housekeeping  is  such  a 
care." 

"Yes,  poor  Bertha,"  said  her  hus- 
band, patting  her  plump  shoulder, 
"  she's  a  wreck  from  her  household 
cares.  But  where  do  you  suppose 
Gordon  White  is?  He  was  to  have 
dined  with  us,  and  he  didn't  come  or 
send  any  word.  We  are  really  very 
much  worried  about  him,  for  you  know 
how  punctilious  he  is." 

Philip  had  not  seen  Mr.  White  at 
the  club.  In  a  person  of  his  well- 
known  regularity  of  habit  his  non- 
107 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

appearance  at  a  dinner  was  indeed  to 
be  considered  serious. 

"I'm  afraid  he  went  to  buy  that 
doll  for  you,  Bertha, ' '  said  her  brother, 
seeing  that  they  were  really  anxious 
about  their  old  friend.  "  He's  prob- 
ably got  lost,  and  Clarence  will  have 
to  advertise  for  him.  '  A  middle-aged 
bachelor,  answering  to  the  name  of 
either  Gordon  or  White,  went  to  buy 
a  doll  for  Mrs.  Beckington;  hasn't 
been  heard  of  since. '  That  will  sound 
finely  in  the  Evening  Moon,  won't 
it?" 

"I  wouldn't  be  such  a  tease  if  I 
were  you;  probably  he  is  sick  or 
something,  and  you'll  be  sorry  for 
having  made  fun  of  him.  I  think 
Mr.  White  is  just  the  nicest  man  in 
the  world  and  I  won't  have  fun  poked 
at  him." 

A  smile  rippled  over  her  face  as  she 

108 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

turned  and  beheld  Gordon  White,  who 
was  just  entering  the  room.  His  ap- 
pearance was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  so 
unlike  that  gentleman's  usually  col- 
lected demeanor  that  it  was  indeed 
calculated  to  raise  mirth.  In  place  of 
his  quiet,  self-contained  air  he  seemed 
in  a  whirl  of  excitement.  He  had 
forgotten  to  remove  his  hat,  which  was 
pushed  back  on  his  head;  his  necktie 
was  quite  off  the  correct  angle,  and  he 
was  carrying  an  enormous  brown 
paper  parcel,  evidently  a  large  doll 
upside  down,  for  two  small  feet  in 
white  socks  and  bronze  shoes  stuck 
pathetically  out  of  the  paper. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  they  all 
cried,  laughing. 

Mr.  White  did  not  seem  to  notice 
the  amusement  he  caused.  He  went 
straight  to  Mrs.  Beckington  and  laid 
the  big  package  in  her  lap. 

109 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"It's  the  doll  I  got  for  you,"  he 
said,  smiling,  "and  there  are  a  few 
more  things  in  the  cab." 

Dorothy  and  Alida  knelt  down  by 
her  chair  as  Bertha  unwrapped  the 
package  and  disclosed  a  lovely  French 
doll  dressed  in  long  clothes.  The 
women's  enthusiasm  over  its  beauties 
warmed  Gordon  White's  withered 
heart.  Certainly  he  was  the  hero  of 
the  hour  for  once,  and  he  enjoyed  it. 
He  felt  himself  the  good  angel  of  the 
Christmas  tree,  and  that  he  had  never 
before  fully  realized  what  a  happy 
time  the  holidays  were. 

"I  got  it  at  Macy's,"  he  said,  ex- 
citedly. ' '  Did  you  ever  go  to  Macy's  ? 
I  asked  the  waiter  at  the  club  where 
to  buy  a  doll,  and  he  said  Macy's,  so  I 
went  there.  It  was  just  like  the  Stock 
Exchange,  only  women.  There  were 

so  many  dolls  it  was  hard  work  decid- 
110 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

ing,  but  I  thought  this  was  a  very  nice 
one.  Its  eyes  open  and  shut,  and  the 
young  person  assured  me  that  its 
clothes  come  off.  It's  got  a  good  cry, 
too." 

Mrs.  Beckington  squeaked  the  doll's 
cry  in  great  glee.  She  really  wished 
that  she  was  a  little  girl  again,  that 
she  might  take  off  all  its  clothes  and 
dress  it.  The  men  looked  on  at  the 
pretty  picture  of  the  three  women,  and 
felt  out  of  it  in  some  way,  and  thought 
what  funny,  childish  creatures  women 
were,  with  a  certain  regretfulness  that 
they  were  not  the  purchasers  of  the 
doll. 

Meanwhile  the  footman  had  been 
bringing  up  from  the  cab  a  hetero- 
geneous collection  of  toys.  There  was 
a  Noah's  ark,  a  tin  kitchen,  toys, 
puzzles,  and  games.  Mr.  White 

beamed ;  he  had  not  been  so  actively 
ill 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

happy  for  many  days.  The  drive 
down  lower  Sixth  Avenue,  with  its 
enormous  white  signs  of  cheap  goods 
for  sale,  the  interest  of  the  curious, 
crowded  store,  and  the  amusement  of 
choosing  the  toys,  had  warmed  him 
into  quite  a  Santa  Glaus  glow. 

"  I  bought  a  tin  kitchen,"  he  went 
on.  "The  young  person  said, 
'Wouldn't  you  like  a  tin  kitchen? 
They  are  greatly  reduced;  only  sixty- 
seven  cents ;  such  a  bargain ! '  I  never 
got  anything  at  a  bargain  in  my  life, 
so  I  thought  I'd  get  the  tin  kitchen. 
I  suppose  now  so  many  girls  go  to 
college  there  isn't  such  a  demand 
for  kitchens  as  there  used  to  be,"  he 
said  wisely. 

"Just  think  of  inculcating  domes- 
ticity in  some  little  girl,"  said  Philip, 
picking  up  the  toy,  "  by  giving  her  a 
tin  kitchen  at  a  cost  of  sixty-seven 

112 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

cents.  I  know  what  I  shall  give  you 
for  Christmas,  Dorothy,  only  I  sup- 
pose you'd  like  to  have  one  made  of 
silver. 

"  No,  I  wouldn't.  Do  let  me  take 
it,"  said  Dorothy.  She  was  as  anx- 
ious to  play  with  it  as  a  little  girl. 
She  took  the  kitchen  to  a  distant  cor- 
ner of  the  room  and  set  it  on  a  table, 
where  she  was  soon  joined  by  Mr. 
Ashley. 

"  May  I  play  with  it  too  ?  "  he  said. 

He  had  been  watching  her  with 
some  amusement,  but  when  he  spoke 
his  face  was  quite  grave  and  full  of 
interest.  He  filled  the  little  kettle 
with  water  from  a  carafe,  and  they 
were  soon  as  absorbed  as  two  children. 
Mrs.  Beckington  put  down  the  doll 
and  began  examining  the  other  play- 
things. The  big  Noah's  ark  inter- 
ested her  immensely.  Her  husband 

113 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

joined  her,  and  they  unwrapped  the 
figures,  setting  them  up  in  a  row  along 
the  table. 

I  often  think  that  a  novelist  who  in 
a  roomful  of  people  describes  the  meet- 
ing of  the  hero  and  heroine  would 
more  nearly  report  the  truth  if  he 
would  place  himself  in  the  position  of 
listener,  catching  the  bits  of  talk  that 
reach  his  ears.  For  that  is  life.  Alida 
may  have  been  breaking  her  heart, 
and  she  and  Philip  may  meet  with 
trembling  souls;  they  may  catch  a 
moment  and  whisper  a  word  to  each 
other,  but  at  the  same  time  the  chat- 
ter of  others  with  gay  hearts  and 
peaceful  souls  will  go  on  about  them 
just  the  same.  The  hand-organs  play 
out  in  the  street  although  all  within 
the  house  are  mourning  their  dead. 

Dorothy  and  Jim  were  playing 
with  the  kitchen,  the  Beckingtons 

114 


ALIDA    CRAIO 

were  busy  with  the  Noah's  ark,  and 
Mr.  White  was  holding  the  doll, 
secretly  consumed  with  a  longing  to 
see  if  its  clothes  really  did  come  off. 
Alida  sat  watching  them,  and  Philip 
came  and  sat  beside  her.  For  all  the 
brightness  of  her  eyes,  he  noticed  how 
drawn  her  face  was,  and  how  tired. 
He  had  intended  to  say  some  common- 
place, but  instead  he  could  not  keep 
himself  from  saying: 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  here 
when  I  came." 

"It's  just  as  well,"  she  answered 
quickly.  "I  am  glad  that  you 
stayed."  She  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  with  absolute  physical  comfort 
to  be  near  him  and  hear  his  voice. 

"Do  you  suppose  that  is  Shem  or 
Ham?  "  cried  Mrs.  Beckington,  hold- 
ing up  a  small,  straight,  red  figure. 
' '  I  want  to  be  sure,  so  as  to  have  him 

115 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

in  the  right  place  in  the  proces- 
sion." 

"What  an  excellent  Sunday-school 
scholar  you  must  have  been  to  remem- 
ber their  names,  dear.  Do  you  re- 
member their  wives'  names  too  ?  ' ' 

Philip  bent  down  his  head  close  to 
Alida's. 

"  Make  a  friend  of  Bertha,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice.  "  My  hands  are  tied; 
though  you  are  in  need,  though  you 
are  dying,  I  may  not  stir  to  help  you. 
Bertha  is  the  sweetest  soul  alive,  and 
if  you  are  friends  it  will  make  me  feel 
easier." 

"  Do  you  think  that  is  a  dicky  bird 
or  a  chicken?  "  said  Mr.  Beckington, 
unwrapping  a  nondescript  yellow 
biped. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  his  wife 
reflectively.  "It  looks  to  me  like  a 

lizard,    only  it's  got  but  two    legs. 
116 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Here's  a  pine  tree,"  she  cried  trium- 
phantly. "I  wonder  why  they  had 
pine  trees  in  the  ark?  " 

"For  Christmas  trees,  of  course," 
answered  Mr.  "White  from  his  corner. 

"  I  would  like  you  to  think  kindly 
of  one  of  us,"  Philip  went  on  bitterly. 

"Think  kindly  of  you!"  said 
Alida.  "  I  always  shall."  She  raised 
her  clear  dark  eyes  and  looked  straight 
into  his  face  with  fearless  strength. 
"I  have  missed  you  so  much,"  she 
said.  "  I  can't  help  it,  but  1  suppose 
I  shall  get  used  to  it.  Some  time 
when  I'm  a  little  old  lady  still  paint- 
ing away  in  my  studio,  and  you're  an 
old,  old  man,  you  will  come  and  see 
me  again,  won't  you  ?  " 

"Jim  isn't  a  bit  nice,"  called  out 
Dorothy  from  her  corner.  "He 
won't  let  me  have  his  cigarette  papers 
to  burn  in  the  range.  Oh,  do  make 

117 


ALIDA    CfiAIG 

him  give  them  to  me,  Mrs.  Becking- 
ton!" 

"Do  you  remember  the  day  I  was 
doing  that  tapestry  design,"  went  on 
Alida,  "  when  you  read  me  Arnold's 
'  Tristran  and  Iseult '  ?  I  often  think 
of  it  now  how  they  sat  together  after 
their  restless,  burning  lives, 

' '  '  Telling  tales  of  separated  lovers 
Reunited  at  their  end  at  last. ' 

"It  may  be  many  years,  but  you 
can  think  of  me  always  at  work  and 
always  loving  you." 

"God  bless  you,"  murmured 
Philip. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Mr.  "White?" 
cried  Dorothy.  Having  burned  up  all 
the  cigarette  papers,  she  was  now 
looking  around  for  something  new 
to  do. 

The  unlucky  victim  of  her  notice 

118 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

had  given  way  to  his  desire  to  undress 
the  doll.  Its  little  garments  lay  in  a 
heap  at  his  feet,  and  he  was  vainly 
struggling  to  get  it  back  into  a  knit 
shirt.  His  embarrassment  at  finding 
the  attention  of  the  entire  company 
riveted  upon  him  was  keen.  He 
would  have  liked  to  strangle  Dorothy. 
Mrs.  Beckington  flew  to  his  rescue, 
and  sitting  down  beside  him,  with  deft 
fingers  soon  had  clothed  the  doll  suit- 
ably for  an  appearance  in  polite 
society. 

The  gayety  began  to  jar  on  Alida, 
so  she  said  good-night,  and  Mrs.  Beck- 
ington, who  saw  that  she  was  looking 
worn  out,  let  her  go  without  pressing. 

She  had  been  gone  but  a  few  mo- 
ments when  Madame  Fremiet  came  in, 
as  she  often  did  for  an  hour  after  the 
theatre.  If  in  the  afternoon  she  was 
still  a  handsome  woman,  at  night  she 

119 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

was  superb.  Her  eyes  were  dark  and 
soft  with  the  passion  she  had  been 
simulating,  and  her  whole  presence 
breathed  an  intense  magnetic  attrac- 
tion. She  was  followed  by  a  man  of 
about  her  own  age,  a  tall,  clean-cut 
Englishman  with  a  reserved  face  and 
a  gentle,  kindly  manner. 

The  Duke  of  Axminster  was  one  of 
those  Englishmen  who  do  not  come  to 
America  to  get  a  rich  wife.  If  he 
had  ever  given  expression  to  any  of 
his  feelings,  which  he  rarely  did,  he 
would  have  said  that  he  considered 
Margaret  Fremiet  the  finest  woman 
in  the  world  by  all  odds.  As  a 
younger  man  his  one  desire  was  to 
marry  her,  to  the  horror  of  his  family, 
but  when  they  found  that  under  no 
circumstances  would  Margaret  think 
of  marrying  him,  they  became  almost 

as  great  victims  of  her  charms  as  the 
120 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Duke  himself.  Years  went  by,  and 
as  Axminster  did  not  marry,  or  take 
any  notice  of  any  other  woman,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  the  marriage 
came  to  be  the  one  desire  of  his 
mother's  heart.  Margaret's  trium- 
phal season  the  previous  year  in  Lon- 
don had  brought  them  closer  together 
again,  and  when  she  returned  to 
America  the  Duke  did  not  delay  long 
in  following  her. 

Mrs.  Beckington  was  enthusiastic 
in  greeting  her  new  guests.  Nothing 
pleased  her  more  than  to  have  her 
friends  drop  in  informally  to  late  sup- 
per. The  Duke,  who  admired  Dor- 
othy greatly  as  a  most  perfect  speci- 
men of  the  genus  American  bud, 
began  a  tete-d-tete  with  that  lively 
young  lady,  to  the  terrible  agony  of 
her  faithful  lover. 

Philip  took  a  seat  beside  Madame 

121 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Fremiet.  He  wondered,  in  a  vague 
way,  seeing  her  in  her  rich,  glorious 
beauty,  fascinating,  a  queen  of 
women,  how  his  heart  had  gone  out 
to  the  little  brown  bird  perched  in 
the  high  studio. 

"What  have  you  been  playing  to- 
night ?  "  he  said .  ' '  Ah,  but  I  know — 
Portia.  You  have  always  something 
judicial  in  your  mien  afterward.  I 
went  to  your  hotel  this  afternoon,  but 
you  were  away.  May  I  come  to-mor- 
row?" 

11  Supper  is  served,"  said  the  butler. 

And  so  we  will  leave  them,  a  merry 
party  going  down  to  supper. 


122 


CHAPTER  YI 

THE  following  afternoon  Philip 
Herford  went  to  Madame  Fremiet's. 
As  he  waited  in  the  flower-scented 
parlor,  filled  with  the  many  exqui- 
site things  that  she  always  settled 
around  herself  during  her  ' '  encamp- 
ments "  for  any  length  of  time,  the 
subtle  exotic  charm  that  seemed  to 
breathe  from  her  and  from  all  her 
belongings  stole  over  his  senses. 
When  at  last  Margaret  entered  the 
room  he  was  in  a  brown  study,  from 
which  he  started  as  she  laid  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"Ah,  dear,"   he   said,   rising  and 

kissing  her  hand.     "  Your  room  is  so 
123 


ALIDA    GRAI& 

warm  and  fragrant  that  after  the  cold 
air  it  lulled  my  thoughts  into  syba- 
ritic repose." 

"What  were  you  thinking  of?" 
She  settled  herself  into  a  comfortable 
corner  of  the  sofa  beside  him,  and 
looked  up  under  her  dark  lids. 

"I  was  thinking  about — Margaret, 
do  you  know  you  are  not  looking 
well?  Last  night  you  were  so  gor- 
geously radiant ;  are  you  not  well 
to-day?" 

"How  unkind  of  you,  Philip — you 
suggest  that  I  am  no  longer  pretty  in 
daylight.  Of  course  I  am  all  right." 

She  had  been  battling  for  hours 
with  a  bad  attack  of  heart  trouble,  to 
which  she  was  becoming  more  and 
more  a  victim.  But  she  was  terribly 
sensitive  about  this  weakness;  her 
glorious,  robust  health  had  been  so 

long  her  great  pride  that  she  hated  to 
134 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

confess  herself  an  invalid.  There  had 
always  been  in  her  a  sort  of  pagan 
pride  of  health  and  beauty — she  could 
never  grow  old  or  be  sick.  She  was 
looking  pale  to-day,  which  surprised 
Philip,  who  from,  one  chance  or  an- 
other had  never  seen  her  after  one  of 
her  bad  attacks. 

"You  have  big  purple  hollows 
under  your  eyes,  my  dear;  why  don't 
you  confide  in  me  if  you  are  not 
well?" 

"  I'm  aS.  right;  don't  tease.  Prob- 
ably I  did  not  get  all  the  make-up  off 
my  face  last  evening,  which  accounts 
for  my  looks  and  your  sympathy. 
Tell  me,  what  have  you  been  doing 
to-day?" 

"  Nothing.  I've  been  to  a  book 
auction,  but  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
seriously  about  something." 

"Don't  talk  seriously,"  said  Mar- 
125 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

garet.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  bet- 
ter and  the  reaction  was  setting  in. 
The  color  came  up  into  her  face,  and  as 
she  curled  up  in  her  corner  she  looked 
like  a  radiant  beauty  of  twenty-five. 
"  Don't  let's  be  serious;  let's  play  and 
talk  nonsense.  For  all  the  years  you 
have  made  love  to  me  I've  never 
known  any  one  so  delightfully  and 
artistically  flirtatious  as  you ;  so 
1  woo  me,  woo  me, '  I'm  in  a  humor 
to  be  won." 

Her  dark  eyes  gleamed  toftly,  her 
red,  laughing  mouth  seemed  a  rose  to 
be  kissed,  and  in  the  languorous  grace 
of  her  attitude  she  breathed  a  spell  of 
enchantment.  She  wore  a  long,  flow- 
ing tea-gown  of  rich  purple  silk,  a 
curious  Indian  fabric  shot  with  gold 
threads.  It  was  such  a  gown  that  she 
had  worn  years  before  when  Philip 
had  called  her  in  a  poetic  mood  "  my 

126 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

gold  and  purple  butterfly."  It  had 
been  his  pet  name  for  her  ever  since. 

' 'My  gold  and  purple  butterfly," 
he  said,  leaning  toward  her,  "  I'm  not 
in  the  mood  to  play  at  wooing,  but  to 
woo  in  earnest.  I  want  you  to  let  our 
engagement  be  announced  at  once;  I 
want  you  to  set  a  day,  a  very  early 
one,  dear,  for  our  marriage." 

Margaret  looked  at  him  keenly. 
His  voice,  every  tone  of  which  she 
knew  by  heart,  rang  as  true  as  on  the 
day  when  he  had  first  told  her  that  he 
loved  her.  Since  her  visit  to  Alida's 
studio  Margaret  had  had  time  to  think. 
"What  she  had  seen  of  the  girl  charmed 
her;  she  seemed  such  a  slight,  baby- 
ish little  creature  that  she  had  laughed 
at  herself  for  taking  the  least  notice  of 
the  anonymous  letter.  Now  as  she 
looked  into  Philip's  dark  eyes  she  read 

there  nothing  but  the  natural  desire  of 
127 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

an  ardent  lover  to  consummate  his 
marriage.  She  laughed  softly. 

' '  I  want  to  wait  until  my  engage- 
ment here  is  over.  I  couldn't  stand 
the  reporters  and  the  newspapers. 
I've  lived  so  long  in  the  glare  of 
publicity  that  I'm  just  like  a  romantic 
girl  in  this;  I  want  it  kept  quiet. 
"We  have  waited  so  long,  six  weeks 
isn't  much  longer;  I  cannot  consent 
before.  ISTo,  don't  press  me,  Philip; 
I've  waited  so  long  that  now  on  the 
brink  of  happiness  I  want  to  pause  to 
play  with  fortune  a  little  longer,  and 
to  come  to  you,  when  I  do,  not  in  a 
parade  or  show,  but  quietly  and 
simply,  as  though  I  was  still  the 
young  girl  that  I  would  I  were;  as 
though  I  had  never  seen  the  stage  or 
known  the  love  of  any  other  man  but 
you." 

Philip  kissed  her  cheek,  and  for  a 

128 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

few  moments  she  was  perfectly  happy 
and  still  in  his  embrace. 

"  It  shall  be  just  as  you  wish,"  he 
said.  He  had  hoped  that  the  engage- 
ment could  be  announced  and  the 
marriage  take  place  very  soon,  but  he 
realized  all  Margaret's  objections. 
He  knew  the  trials  of  the  publicity  of 
her  position,  and  said  no  more.  For  a 
long  time  they  sat  in  silence,  then  they 
talked  of  the  past,  of  their  early  days 
together.  His  tete-d-tete  with  Mar- 
garet was  full  of  charm ;  every  conver- 
sation seemed  to  disclose  a  new  side 
to  her  character.  She  had  entered 
the  room  a  grand,  dignified  creature  in 
her  sweeping  gown ;  in  her  confession 
of  her  desire  to  keep  their  engagement 
a  secret,  her  face  had  worn  the  expres- 
sion of  a  shy  young  girl;  now  she  lay 
back  in  her  cushions  a  picture  of  sen- 
suous and  leonine  beauty,  talking  with 
129 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

regretful  sentiment  of  the  days  that 
were  no  more. 

"Shall  I  ever  know  you?"  said 
Philip,  struck  by  the  changing  of  her 
manner,  as  in  fact  he  often  had  been. 
"  How  little  I  know  of  you !  Nothing 
would  ever  surprise  me  that  you  did 
or  said,  I  see  you  under  so  many  dif- 
ferent guises.  "When  we  are  married 
we  won't  settle  down  to  not  knowing 
what  to  say  to  each  other  in  a  hurry ; 
you  will  have  to  tell  me  all  about 
yourself,  and  it  will  be  like  Schehere- 
zade's  story:  it  will  furnish  me  amuse- 
ment and  amazement  for  a  thousand 
and  one  nights." 

"It's  because  I  am  a  Creole,"  said 
Margaret.  "I  think  the  races  are 
divided  into  Caucasian,  Mongolian — 
and  Creole;  but  it's  wonderful  for  all 
my  exciting  life  how  little  there  is  to 
tell.  You  know  that  I  married  Mon- 

130 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

sieur  Bonaventure  when  I  was  eigh- 
teen and  that  I  was  unhappy  and  mis- 
erable ;  that  I  suddenly  became  aware 
of  my  one  talent  and  that  I  went  on 
the  stage."  Her  tone  changed  to  a 
dreamy,  reflective  one.  "  I  wonder  if 
I  did  wrong  ?  I  had  ties,  duties,  but 
I  left  them  all,  never  thought  of  them. 
If  it  were  to  do  over  again  I  know  I 
should  do  just  as  I  did,  and  yet  I  re- 
gret—  She  spoke  with  such  sadness 
that  Philip  was  touched. 

"  Don't  regret  what  you  did,  dear," 
he  said.  "  People  with  your  genius 
are  not  to  judge  themselves  by  the 
narrow  canons  that  are  for  the  ordi- 
nary lot.  It  was  your  birthright  to 
be  an  actress.  Think  how  little  the 
world  is  the  loser  by  one  good  house- 
wife less,  how  much  it  would  have 
lost  in  not  having  your  interpreta- 
tions of  Shakespeare." 

131 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"  I  know,  but — "  Margaret  sat  up- 
right on  the  edge  of  the  sofa,  her 
parted  lips  showing  her  beautiful  glis- 
tening teeth  as  though  she  was  going 
to  speak;  then  she  lay  back  again 
among  the  pillows. 

"  What  was  it  going  to  be,  Marga- 
ret?" 

"  Nothing;  I  have  changed  my 
mind.  Don't  let's  talk  seriously  any 
more;  it  makes  me  chilly — talking  of 
my  past  sins  always  makes  me  want 
to  commit  a  new  set  to  blot  out  the 
old  ones.  Are  you  coming  to  see  me 
act  to-night?" 

They  talked  a  little  longer,  and  then 
Philip  went  away,  going  down  into 
the  cold,  chill  street  with  crowding 
sensations  of  Margaret's  beauty  and 
charm,  and  cursing  his  own  weakness 
and  folly  and  the  tangle  he  had  made 
of  others'  lives. 

132 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Margaret  lay  quite  still  among  the 
cushions  for  a  long  time,  thinking  of 
Philip  and  the  years  of  their  long 
waiting.  Her  life  had  been  so  good, 
so  happy  in  its  triumphs,  in  its  joyous 
inner  life.  The  room  grew  dark,  and 
her  maid  came  in  and  lighted  the  gas. 
She  was  a  middle-aged  Englishwoman 
devoted  to  her  mistress. 

"A  caller,  madame,"  she  said 
softly,  fearing  that  Margaret  was 
asleep. 

"  Who  is  it,  Barnes?" 

"The  Duke  of  Axminster."  The 
woman  could  scarcely  conceal  her 
pride  in  a  mistress  who  had  a  duke  as 
a  familiar  caller. 

Madame  Fremiet  straightened  her 
hair,  peeped  into  the  glass  to  see  that 
her  dress  was  in  order,  and  when  the 
Duke  entered  was  sitting  before  the 
fire,  her  tea  table  drawn  up  beside 

133 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

her — the  majestic  creature  that  the 
world  knew  and  that  Axminster  never 
doubted  was  her  real  self.  Margaret 
had  stayed  too  much  at  Chilworth  not 
to  know  just  how  the  Duke  took  his 
tea;  she  made  it  now  exactly  to  his 
taste. 

The  Duke,  like  many  of  his  country- 
men, was  not  an  especially  brilliant 
conversationalist;  in  fact,  his  qualities 
were  largely  national ;  but  if  he  lacked 
the  superficial  graces,  he  certainly  had 
most  fully  developed  the  dogged  faith- 
fulness and  devotion  for  which  Eng- 
lishmen are  noted.  "When  he  had 
drunk  his  tea  and  had  read  Margaret 
most  of  the  contents  of  his  mother's 
last  letter,  he  unburdened  his  mind  of 
a  rumor  that  he  had  heard  at  the  club 
— that  Margaret  was  going  to  leave 
the  stage  and  marry  Philip  Herford. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  breaking 
134 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

unpleasant  news  gently.  Margaret 
could  say  no  more  and  no  less  than  that 
it  was  true.  She  dwelt  on  her  great 
friendship  for  the  duke,  her  admira- 
tion for  his  mother,  their  untold  kind- 
ness to  her,  but  under  all  her  gentle 
speeches  the  fact  remained  that  she 
was  going  to  marry  Mr.  Philip  Her- 
f  ord  as  soon  as  her  New  York  engage- 
ment was  finished.  She  was  surprised 
to  see  the  effect  that  her  words  had. 
Ordinarily  reserved  and  phlegmatic, 
the  duke's  self-possession  was  forgot- 
ten entirely;  he  paced  the  room  with 
long  strides,  muttering  to  himself  in 
his  absorption. 

"  Do  listen  to  me,"  said  Margaret. 
"  You  would  not  have  me  pretend  to 
care  for  you  and  marry  you  for  your 
position,  would  you?  Forget  about 
me;  your  title  and  position  make  you, 
after  the  princes,  one  of  the  greatest 

135 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

men  in  England.  To  me  }rou  will 
always  be  one  of  the  greatest  and  best 
men  I  have  ever  known.  Even  if  my 
heart  were  not  elsewhere,  respect  is 
not  love.  You  will  marry  some  great 
lady  and  be  happy." 

"  My  brother  Dol  worth  is  as  sure  of 
the  title  as  though  I  were  dead,"  he 
said.  "  You  know  there  was  only  one 
duchess  for  me,  and  I  shall  go  back  to 
Chilworth  and  see  her  moving  around 
the  rooms  again  as  you  did  last  sum- 
mer,— as  I  would  if  you  had  really 
been  my  wife,  and  died." 

She  had  known  Axminster  for  years ; 
his  deep  sentiment  and  feelings  were 
not  unknown  to  her.  There  was  some- 
thing in  his  words  that  touched  her 
deeply.  A  sob  rose  in  her  throat. 

"  Years  ago  when  you  first  refused 
me  I  was  almost  mad  with  jealousy," 

he  went  on.     "I  have  comforted  my- 
136 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

self  all  these  years  thinking  that  you 
did  not  care  for  me  in  the  prime  of 
your  success  and  beauty,  but  that  I 
would  wait,  and  some  time  you  would 
come  to  me  when  everything  else  was 
gone,  when  you  were  ill  and  alone.  I 
have  watched  you  lately ;  I  know  the 
effort  it  takes  for  you  to  keep  up  ap- 
pearances— you  are  ill — I  had  hoped 
that  you  would  come  to  me  now.  My 
shoulders  are  broad  enough  for  you  to 
rest  your  tired  head  upon,  my  heart  is 
wide  enough  to  be  filled  with  happi- 
ness if  it  could  be  devoted  to  you." 

Margaret  dropped  into  a  chair,  sob- 
bing. 

"  You  are  the  best,  the  dearest 
friend  ;  but  don't  you  understand, 
Duke,  I  love  Mr.  Herford  ?  Forget 
me,  and  give  the  duchess  a  more 
worthy  daughter  than  I  could  ever 
be." 

137 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"  Never  !  "  His  face  was  set  with 
anger.  "How  little  you  know  me! 
Since  I  have  known  you  I  have  never 
seen  any  woman  that  could  charm  me 
for  a  moment.  Yes,  I  have,  though  " 
— he  stopped.  "There  was  such  a 
queer  circumstance.  I  was  going  along 
in  the  dusk  the  other  night  when  a 
woman  passed  me  who  I  thought  was 
you.  I  followed  her ;  she  was  smaller, 
slighter  than  you  are,  a  mere  girl,  but 
she  made  my  pulses  beat  she  was  so 
like.  She  walked  fast,  and  I  followed 
her  until  she  disappeared.  Isn't  it 
absurd — a  man  of  my  age  chasing  a 
little  Bohemian  because  she  reminded 
me  of  you?  " 

As  he  spoke  a  strange  chill  crept 
over  Margaret,  her  eyes  dilated,  and 
she  looked  wildly  and  fixedly  at  him. 
Her  face  was  gray  and  wan ;  she  tried 

to  speak,  but  her  voice  failed.      He 
188 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

seized  a  carafe  of  water  and  gave  her 
some  to  drink.  She  looked  at  him 
with  pathetic  eyes. 

"  Wait,"  she  said;  and  then  for  a 
few  moments  he  watched  her  fight  for 
breath,  and  cold  drops  of  perspiration 
stood  out  on  his  forehead  in  agony  at 
seeing  her  suffer. 

"Shall  I  call  Barnes?" 
"  No;  wait,  just  a  moment." 
She  could    scarcely  speak  above  a 
whisper,  and  he  knelt  down  beside  her 
chair  to  catch  her  words. 

"I'm  not  very  well,  I  have  these 
spells  sometimes,"  she  gasped.  "As 
you  were  speaking  a  strange  sensation 
of  trouble  and  fear  came  over  me.  I 
have  had  such  a  warning  before  and 
it  presages  some  trouble."  The  still, 
blank  look  came  into  her  eyes  again; 
she  seemed  almost  in  a  trance.  "  You 
have  waited  so  long  for  me,  wait  a 

139 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

little  longer.  I  see  trouble  ahead. 
Go  now,"  she  said  hoarsely,  "but 
come  to-morrow.  I  do  not  need  you 
to-night,  but  I  may  need  you  to- 
morrow." 

At  his  sharp  ring  Barnes  came  hur- 
rying in  all  devotion  to  her  mistress. 

That  night,  for  the  first  time  in  all 
her  theatrical  career,  notice  was  sent 
to  close  the  theatre.  Owing  to  sud- 
den illness  Madame  Fremiet  did  not 
play  that  night. 


140 


CHAPTER  VII 

"  GIRLS,"  said  Jenny  Brady,  dash- 
ing into  her  dressing-room  about  fif- 
teen minutes  before  the  curtain  went 
up  on  "  The  Fencing  Master  " — "girls, 
you  behold  in  me  the  'duxit  ma- 
china.  ' '  She  was  in  a  terrible  hurry ; 
her  hair  was  dropping  down  in  dis- 
order and  her  hat  was  on  sideways. 

"You'd  better  get  dressed,"  said 
Augusta,  commonly  known  as  Gussy, 
Henderson,  severely,  who  was  dressed 
and  sat  polishing  her  nails  in  exasper- 
ating idleness,  offering  no  assistance  as 
Jenny  tore  off  her  clothes  with  a 
catching  of  hooks  and  tangling  of 

laces. 

Ul 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"Wait  till  I  get  my  wig  on  and 
then  I'll  help  you,  Jenny,"  said  the 
third  occupant  of  the  room,  who  was 
small  and  thin  and  black  and  made  up 
into  a  strawberry  blonde.  "  Tell  us 
what  you've  been  up  to." 

"Do  you  remember  when  I  was 
travelling  with  Shakespeare,"  said 
Jenny,  unfastening  the  buttons  of  her 
boots  with  great  energy,  "and  how 
Mr.  Albert,  the  stage  manager,  told 
me  Roman  vestals  weren't  allowed  to 
make  eyes  at  the  audience  and  docked 
my  salary? ' '  She  daubed  on  her  grease 
paint  with  a  knowing  hand.  "  I  just 
swore  that  I'd  be  square  with  him, 
and  so  I  am,  all  unbeknownst.  He's 
managing  Margaret  Fremiet  still  at 

the Theatre.  Yesterday  I  sent 

her  an  anonymous  letter  and  to-night 
the  theatre's  shut  up." 

"A  nice  girl  you  are,"  said  Gussy 

142 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

scornfully,  still  polishing  her  nails, 
"breaking  up  the  stars  of  the  profes- 
sion with  your  anonymous  letters. 
Suppose  your  letter  kills  Margaret 
Fremiet,  who's  going  to  step  into  her 
shoes?  " 

"The  letter  wasn't  killing,"  said 
Jenny  contritely.  "  It  only  just  told 
her  the  facts  of  Mr.  Herford's  devotion 
to  my  Miss  Craig — if  you  hadn't  been 
away  over  Sunday  you'd  have  read 
it  yourself.  Gertie  and  me  saw  the 
letter  in  a  novel  what  we'd  been 
reading  and  just  changed  the  names. 
You  didn't  catch  cold  up  in  Cornwall, 
did  you,  Gussy  ?  "  she  went  on  plain- 
tively. "  Because,  if  you  are  not  com- 
ing down  with  inflammation  of  the 
lungs  again,  I  think  you're  pretty 
cantankerous." 

"I'm  not  cantankerous,"  retorted 
Gussy,  "  but  up  in  Cornwall  I  heard 

143 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

something  awful — I  heard  that  you 
posed  for  the  '  nood.'  "  The  scorn  of 
her  voice  as  she  brought  out  the  last 
word  was  indescribable.  "  We've  got 
along  very  well  as  friends  one  way  or 
another,  we  ain't  any  of  us  squeamish, 
but  I  draw  the  line  at  noods." 

The  strawberry  blonde,  her  toilet 
completed,  had  laced  up  Jenny's  bodice 
with  quick  fingers,  and  in  a  kindly 
way  pulled  up  a  wrinkle  in  her  friend's 
tights. 

"Jenny  would  be  a  good  nood," 
she  said  reflectively. 

The  crimson  blood  flushed  all  over 
Jenny's  face  and  arms  and  neck;  she 
was  so  angry  that  she  could  not 
speak ;  she  wanted  to  strike  Gussy,  but 
she  knew  that  quarrelling  in  the  dress- 
ing-room was  absolutely  forbidden. 

"  There's  a  nood  in  a  picture  gallery 

with  a  face  just  like  yours,"  went  on 
144 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

her  tormentor.  "A  man  painted  it, 
a  man  named  Hitchcock;  and  my 
friends  up  in  Cornwall  said  it's  just 
the  living  image  of  you. ' ' 

"You  ought  to  know  me  better, 
Gussy,"  said  Jenny,  controlling  her 
tears,  which  she  knew  would  spoil  her 
make-up.  "I've  been  posing  for 
angels  for  Miss  Craig  and  for  a  ma- 
donna for  Mr.  Hitchcock,  and  if  he's 
seen  fit  to  put  my  head  on  another 
woman's  body  I  don't  see  what  I  can 
do  about  it.  There  ain't  no  harm  in 
the  nood  anyway,  Miss  Craig  says; 
but  I  ain't  posed  even  for  her — no, 
never  !  " 

It  was  strange  the  affronted  dignity 
that  swelled  the  girl's  person  as  she 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  dingy  room 
clad  in  her  short  dancing  dress,  which 
revealed  an  amplitude  of  limb,  broad, 
beautiful  shoulders,  and  white  arms. 

145 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Her  tone  carried  conviction  to  her 
listeners. 

"Ain't  my  style,  anyway,"  she 
said.  "  You  girls  wouldn't  believe  it 
if  you  was  to  see  me  standing  up  with 
my  seraphim  expression  on.  There  are 
plenty  of  noods  but  there  ain't  many 
angels.  I'd  be  a  fool  to  cheapen  my- 
self. There's  the  call,  girls."  And 
they  dashed  up-stairs,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  were  mixed  in  with  a  bevy  of 
similarly  clad  damsels  treading  the 
mazes  of  the  amazons'  march. 

Eeaders  that  object  to  low  life  and 
low  people  I  hope  will  excuse  me  for 
introducing  them  to  not  only  one,  but 
three  such  decidedly  low  characters 
as  chorus  girls.  After  all,  we  may 
not  go  on  the  street  but  we  brush 
our  skirts  against  those  not  conversant 
with  all  the  exquisite  subtleness  of 
good  and  bad  form.  It  is  true  they 

146 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

do  not  sit  at  our  tables  and  their 
names  are  not  on  our  visiting  lists,  but 
yet  in  the  curious  intertwining  of  our 
lives  it  is  not  outside  the  bounds  of 
possibility  that  Jenny  Brady,  a  chorus 
girl,  should  be  bound  up  in  the  life  of 
Philip  Herford. 

Days  went  by,  long,  busy  days  for 
Alida.  Beyond  a  certain  degree  ro- 
manticism is  only  compatible  with  a 
settled  income.  Stained-glass  firms 
would  not  wait  nor  spring  exhibitions 
delay  while  Alida  allowed  her  feelings 
to  absorb  her  time.  She  settled  her- 
self to  work,  and  in  it  found,  as  ever, 
the  palliative  for  the  woes  of  her 
mind.  In  her  life,  which  had  been 
absolutely  starved  of  all  affection,  her 
little  glimpse  of  love  went  a  long  way. 
Of  passion  she  knew  nothing;  it  is 
not  fostered  by  untiring  application  to 
the  study  of  the  beautiful  and  work- 

147 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

ing  for  bread.  Not  that  her  nature 
entirely  lacked  the  elements  of  passion 
— no;  but  as  yet  she  was  in  dreamland 
among  her  books  and  pictures.  She 
had  not  as  yet  learned  the  mortal 
pain  of  love  unfulfilled ;  her  gray  eyes 
looked  out  into  the  world  with  the 
innocence  of  a  child.  She  had  never 
been  used  to  such  companionship  of 
her  own  age  before,  her  work  had 
been  too  absorbing  to  give  much  time 
to  play;  but  now  that  her  reputation 
was  won  and  the  hard  bread-struggle 
over,  she  could  afford  to  allow  herself 
a  little  freedom. 

Mrs.  Beckington  and  Dorothy  were 
always  running  in  on  some  perfectly 
charming  errand  or  other.  Would 
she  go  for  a  drive  ?  Or  would  she  go 
to  the  opera  that  night?  Or  would 
she  make  them  some  tea  and  advise 

them  about  a  dress  ?    It  was  a  gentle, 
148 


ALIDA    CXAIQ 

aimless  companionship  and  a  chatter- 
ing of  the  small  nothings  that  go  to 
make  up  the  substance  of  fashionable 
women's  lives.  But  Alida  enjoyed  it 
thoroughly.  She  little  supposed  that 
beside  their  constant  kindness  she  had 
a  third  watchful  angel  in  Jenny 
Brady.  The  girl's  rough  honesty  al- 
ways pleased  Alida,  and  lately,  as  she 
stood  on  the  platform  posing  for 
angels  and  madonnas,  she  would  give 
vent  to  a  torrent  of  quick  Irish  wit 
that  would  lighten  Alida's  mood  un- 
thinkingly. 

Chloe  working  in  the  kitchen  be- 
came quite  jealous  of  the  peals  of  girl- 
ish laughter  that  would  resound  from 
the  studio  during  work  hours.  The 
truth  was  that  Jenny,  finding  that  her 
anonymous  letter  had  not  had  the  least 
effect  on  straightening  out  Alida's  life, 
laid  Philip  down  very  deep  in  her 

149 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"  villain  "  list,  and  all  her  heart  went 
out  in  the  active,  everyday  missionary 
work  of  trying  to  make  Alida  laugh. 

"May  I  stop  at  four  sharp?"  she 
said  one  afternoon.  "I'm  going  to 
my  friend  Miss  O'Halloran's  recep- 
tion this  afternoon,  and  we  have  to 
keep  early  hours  so  as  not  to  be  late 
for  the  theatre." 

Alida  knew  all  about  the  three 
friends,  how  they  shared  the  same 
dressing-room  at  the  theatre,  how 
they  lent  each  other  money  when 
times  were  hard,  and  nursed  each  other 
when  they  were  ill.  She  knew  all  of 
Jenny's  life,  or  at  least  all  that 
could  be  told  of  her  experiences. 
Through  her  advice  Jenny,  settled  in 
"New  York  for  one  winter,  had  taken 
a  tiny  flat  in  Harlem  with  her  two 
friends.  Eegarding  this  little  tea,  at 
which,  with  all  the  airs  Dorothy 

150 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Mason  could  have  assumed,  Jenny  was 
to  preside,  she  had  heard  much  during 
the  last  few  days,  enjoying  thoroughly 
Jenny's  attempts  at  domesticity,  and 
taking  great  pleasure  in  telling  her  of 
the  latest  things  she  had  seen  at  teas 
she  had  been  to. 

"  You'd  better  go  now,  Jenny,  I'm 
pretty  tired,"  she  said  a  few  minutes 
before  four,  and  the  girl  shuffled  off 
in  her  sandals. 

"  Angels  must  have  a  queer  gait  if 
they  wear  them  things,"  she  said  to 
herself,  twisting  up  her  auburn  locks 
and  divesting  herself  of  her  flowing 
robes.  "  When  shall  I  come  again  ?  " 
she  called,  with  her  mouth  full  of  pins. 
"I've  got  to  go  to  Mr.  Hitchcock's 
to-morrow." 

"  Day  after,"  said  Alida,  "  and  I'll 
be  sure  to  finish  the  cartoon  then.  I 

don't  know  what  I  should  do  with- 
151 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

out  you,  Jenny;  you  work  right  into 
my  ways;  some  models  make  me  so 
nervous." 

"  Oh,  you're  easy  to  pose  for; 
nothing  like  some  of  them,  that 
won't  let  you  wink,  and  pin  folds  right 
through  your  skin.  The  only  thing 
that's  hard  work  about  angels  is  keep- 
ing your  eyes  rolled  up  to  heaven;  it 
gives  you  a  crick  in  the  back  of  your 
neck.  But  then  there's  always  some- 
thing— and  it's  nothing  to  having  to 
stand  with  your  mouth  open.  I 
won't  pose  for  any  more  singers. 
There's  the  bell !  Now,  I  suppose 
that's  Mrs.  Beckington  or  Mrs.  Ma- 
son," she  thought,  secretly  rather  jeal- 
ous of  the  interest  they  took  in  Alida. 

It  was  Dorothy,  fresh  and  sweet  as 
a  rose,  her  pink  and  white  complexion 
set  off  charmingly  by  a  faultless  cos- 
tume of  tobacco  brown  and  a  broad 

152 


SHE  HELD  BY   A  LEASH  A  BIG   ST.   BERNARD,      (p.  153.) 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

brown  hat  with  big  plumes.  She 
held  by  a  leash  a  big  St.  Bernard, 
which  added  to  her  picturesque  effect. 

"I've  been  having  such  a  good  walk 
with  the  bow-wow,"  she  chattered, 
"and  I  was  so  hungry  I  thought  I'd 
just  come  in  and  see  if  there  wasn't 
tea  and  perhaps  muffins  up  here.  I'm 
just  starved,  and  mamma  would  die  if 
I  went  anywhere  alone  to  buy  any- 
thing more  filling  than  caramels." 

Alida  was  very  glad  to  see  Dorothy. 
She  promised  to  treat  her  to  unlimited 
muffins. 

"  But,  alas  !  "  she  said,  glancing  at 
the  girl's  beautiful  dress,  "  Chloe  is 
not  well  this  afternoon  and  we  shall 
have  to  do  them  ourselves,  and  I  am 
afraid  you  are  far  too  elegant  for  the 
kitchen." 

"Nonsense,  lead  the  way,"  said 
Dorothy  stoutly.  "  If  you  knew  the 

153 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

pangs  of  hunger  that  I  am  suffering 
under  this  gorgeous  garment,  you 
wouldn't  delay." 

At  this  moment  Jenny  came  down 
from  the  bedroom,  quiet,  and  looking 
quite  like  a  lady  in  her  neat-fitting 
tailor  gown. 

"Good-by,  I'll  come  Thursday," 
closing  the  door  softly  after  her. 

Her  position  as  model  was  full  of 
speculation  to  Dorothy's  inquiring 
mind.  She  would  have  liked  to  talk 
to  her,  but  Jenny  was  shy,  and  beyond 
the  respectful  "  good  afternoon  "  was 
never  known  to  utter  a  word  in  her 
presence,  for  Jenny  Brady  had  a 
very  great  weakness:  she  took  much 
thought  of  her  personal  appearance 
and  her  clothes,  and  prided  herself  that 
men  and  women  passing  her  on  the 
street  saw  in  the  quiet  elegance  of  her 

attire  the  possession  of  a  fortune  and 
154 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

a  Fifth  Avenue  house.  She  oddly 
realized  her  limitations. 

"  I'm  all  very  well  as  long  as  I  keep 
my  mouth  shut,"  she  would  say,  "  but 
my  brogue  is  a  dead  give-away." 

Before  groomed,  fresh,  well-trained 
Dorothy  she  felt  herself  an  awkward 
sham  and  sank  into  a  meekness 
worthy  of  an  English  housemaid. 

The  two  girls  went  into  the  kitchen 
and  began  cutting  up  the  muffins, 
when  the  door-bell  rang  violently 
with  the  peculiar  ring  that  was  usu- 
ally followed  by  Mr.  Ashley,  come, 
through  one  reason  or  another,  to  call 
at  just  the  opportune  time  when  his 
lady  love  was  there.  These  visits  had 
rather  disturbed  Alida  until  she  found 
that  he  had  usually  been  to  the  house 
and  that  Mrs.  Mason  had  sent  him 
around. 

The  game  of  cross  purposes  is  a  gay 

155 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

one.  Dorothy  was  intent  on  conceal- 
ing her  engagement,  Mr.  Ashley  was 
equally  intent  on  having  it  announced, 
and  Mrs.  Mason,  seeing  in  Mr.  Ashley 
an  excellent  parti,  like  an  amiable, 
worthy  mother  was  moving  heaven 
and  earth  and  losing  her  midnight 
sleep  inventing  opportunities  to  throw 
them  together. 

Dorothy  peeped  out  through  the 
kitchen  door,  and  when  she  saw  who 
the  visitor  was,  nothing  would  suit 
her  but  that  her  lover,  in  all  the  mag- 
nificence of  his  immaculate  frock  coat 
and  fresh  gloves,  should  come  in  and 
see  the  kitchen.  Dorothy  sat  in  front 
of  the  range  toasting  her  muffins  as 
though  it  were  one  of  her  daily  duties. 
Alida  was  rather  disturbed  at  her  two 
magnificent  guests  insisting  on  occu- 
pying the  little  room. 

"  Dorothy  is  so  spoiled,"  she  said  in 

156 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

apology,  "that  if  she  wants  you  in 
the  kitchen,  you'll  have  to  go;  but 
really  I  don't  think  you'd  better,  it's 
such  a  little  place  and  there  is  only 
one  chair." 

But  Mr.  Ashley  would  not  hear  of 
being  treated  as  a  stranger,  and  he 
insisted  upon  coming  into  the  kitchen 
to  see  Dorothy  in  her  latest,  as  a 
beautiful  picture  of  domesticity.  He 
scorned  the  chair,  and  would  sit  on  top 
of  the  tubs,  swinging  his  feet,  a  per- 
fectly absurd  picture  in  his  immacu- 
late attire,  with  a  background  t>f  blue 
plates  and  copper  kettles. 

"  Miss  Mason,"  he  remarked  airily, 
"  I  hope  you  are  getting  a  few  points 
in  housekeeping. ' ' 

"I've  been  taking  cooking  lessons 
for  two  years, "  in  great  dignity,  which 
was  rather  upset  by  finding  that  in 

her  interest  at  his  arrival  she  had  for- 
157 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

gotten  to  turn  the  toasting-fork  and 
her  muffin  was  a  cinder. 

Mr.  Ashley  took  the  fork  from  her 
hand  and  insisted  upon  toasting  the 
muffins  himself;  with  the  handy  fin- 
gers of  a  college  boy  used  to  making  ! 
all  kinds  of  messes  in  his  room,  toast- 
making  was  a  fine  art.  Dorothy 
watched  him,  with  a  high  degree  of 
respect  creeping  into  her  mind  as  she 
contrasted  his  golden-brown  circles 
with  her  cindery  ones.  Mr.  Ashley 
and  Alida  had  become  warm  friends 
during  the  past  few  weeks ;  he  admired 
the  plucky  little  artist  with  all  the 
amazement  of  a  man  who  was  unused 
to  see  a  lady  work  for  her  bread.  He 
hoped  that  she  would  persuade  Dor- 
othy to  have  their  engagement  an- 
nounced, but  so  far  no  persuasion 
could  move  that  romantic  young 

person. 

158 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

When  the  muffins  were  toasted  Mr. 
Ashley  turned  violently  around  in  his 
chair,  took  a  newspaper  from  his 
pocket,  and  looked  sternly  at  Dorothy. 

""What  do  you  suppose  I  read  in 
the  Town  Tattler  to-day,"  he  cried, 
his  voice  ringing  with  anger  and  in- 
dignation as  he  read  the  obnoxious 
paragraph.  ' ' '  Miss  Dorothy  Mason 
is,  we  are  told,  the  fortunate  young 
lady  whom  the  Duke  of  Axminster 
will  bear  away  to  Chilworth  Castle. ' 
Oh,  Dorothy,"  he  said,  rumpling  up 
his  thick  hair,  that  he  had  spent  good- 
ness knows  how  long  reducing  to  a 
perfect  polish,  "I  can't  stand  your 
being  spoken  of  publicly  in  this  way. 
I  feel  crazy,  quite  crazy;  I  didn't  sleep 
a  wink  last  night."  In  his  agitation 
he  waved  the  toasting-fork  wildly 
around. 

Dorothy's  teasing  nature  was  highly 
159 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

pleased;  the  more  her  faithful  lover 
fumed  the  more  light-hearted  she 
got. 

"  Of  course  the  Duke  has  paid  me  a 
great  deal  of  attention,"  she  said 
mockingly. 

Mr.  Ashley's  honest  eyes  flashed 
indignantly. 

"  He'd  no  right  to  pay  you  atten- 
tion. You  should  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self, an  engaged  girl.  It's  all  great  fun 
for  you,  I  suppose,  but  a  man  can't 
stand  it.  I'm  haunted  at  night  think- 
ing you  are  dancing  with  some  other 
man;  I  can't  eat  my  dinner  thinking 
of  you  sitting  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table  smiling  at — " 

"Some  other  idiot,"  retorted  Dor- 
othy calmly. 

Her  enraged  lover  glared  at  her 
fiercely.  The  bell  rang  again,  and 
Alida  slipped  from  the  room,  hoping 

160 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

that  they  would  come  to  some  kind 
of  an  understanding. 

"I'm  going  straight  down  to  the 
Town  Tattler  office,"  he  said,  getting 
up  out  of  the  chair,  his  big  figure 
seeming  to  fill  the  entire  room,  "  and 
I'm  going  to  say  to  them,  You've  got 
to  contradict  that  report;  she's  en- 
gaged to  me — me — me — and  I  was 
captain  of  the  football  team  at  Yale." 

He  looked  so  funny  and  determined 
that  Dorothy  could  scarcely  keep  from 
laughing.  At  the  same  time  her 
amour  propre  was  pleased  by  the  evi- 
dent earnestness  of  his  affection  for 
her. 

"  Oh,  Jim,  how  much  you  do  love 
me,"  she  said,  suppressing  a  giggle. 

"Do  I?"  said  Mr.  Ashley,  sarcas- 
tically. "Do  I  indeed?"  His  face 
was  hard  and  determined.  Like  many 
another  patient  soul,  when  his  amiabil- 

161 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

ity  had  come  to  an  end,  he  was  perfect- 
ly remorseless.  l '  ISTo,  Dorothy  Mason, 
I  don't  love  you."  And  as  Dorothy, 
taken  by  surprise,  put  up  her  pretty 
red  lips  to  be  kissed,  he  seized  her  by 
the  arm  in  anything  but  a  gentle  grip. 
"Kiss  you!  Indeed  I  won't,"  he 
said,  with  withering  scorn.  "I'm not 
in  the  habit  of  kissing  young  ladies  to 
whom  I'm  not  engaged.  Come  along 
to  the  studio;  it's  most  improper  our 
being  here  without  a  chaperon." 

Dorothy  was  so  surprised  she 
couldn't  speak;  she  picked  up  the  plate 
of  muffins  with  lamblike  meekness 
and  followed  her  irate  lover  into  the 
studio. 

Alida  was  standing  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  looking  startled  and  per- 
turbed, while  not  far  from  her  a 
somewhat  flashily  dressed  young  man 
was  talking  rapidly  in  rather  loud 

162 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

tones.  "This  is  the  most  extraordi- 
nary thing,"  cried  Alida,  turning  to 
Jim.  "  I  don't  exactly  understand  it, 
but  this  gentleman  and  a  newspaper 
and  Jenny  Brady  seem  very  much 
mixed  up."  The  man  turned,  in- 
stantly including  Jim  in  the  conver- 
sation. 

"There's  an  article  about  Miss 
Craig  just  been  set  up  at  the  Evening 
Budget,  where  I'm  employed — oh, 
I'm  not  a  member  of  the  staff,  I 
don't  mean  that,"  he  went  on  frank- 
ly, ' '  but  we  manage  to  know  a  good 
deal  that  goes  on.  I  was  walking  up- 
town just  now  with  a  particular  lady 
friend  of  mine,  Miss  Jenny  Brady, 
and  I  told  her  about  it.  She  blazed 
right  up  and  said,  '  Miss  Craig  would 
object  to  it,  and  she'd  never  speak  to 
me  again  if  I  didn't  try  to  stop  its 
being  published.'  So  I  thought  the 

163 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

best  thing  I  could  do  was  to  come 
and  ask  Miss  Craig  about  it  myself." 

"Well,  I  don't  care  for  newspaper 
articles  much,"  said  Alida,  "but  as 
long  as  I  exhibit  my  work  publicly  I 
don't  quite  see  why  I  should  object  to 
its  being  noticed." 

"The  public  don't  care  much  for 
pictures,  begging  your  pardon,"  said 
Mr.  Blair.  ' '  But  'tis  reported  that 
you  are  engaged  to  Mr.  Philip  Her- 
ford;  that's  what  brought  the  matter 
up." 

Poor  Alida;  her  face  went  ashy  and 
wan.  That  her  secret  must  be  dragged 
forth  into  public  criticism  to  furnish 
a  newspaper  item  seemed  the  very 
last  straw. 

"Not  that  it's  anything  to  have 
your  engagement  anounced  when  it's 
not  true,"  said  Mr.  Blair,  with  rough 

kindness.     "  Lots  of  young  ladies — " 
164 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

But  Jim,  broad  of  shoulder  and 
thick  of  head,  realized  what  the  girl 
was  suffering. 

"Mr.  Blair,"  he  said,  "I  don't 
think  Miss  Craig  or  her  friends  can 
ever  thank  you  enough  for  coming 
and  letting  us  know  of  this.  I  think, 
perhaps,  I  can  prevent  the  article 
being  published;  my  father  owns 
some  stock  in  the  Evening  Budget^ 
and  one  of  my  cousins  is  on  the  staff — 
Tom  Ashley,  perhaps  you  know  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes;  he's  the  sporting  editor. 
I  guess  he  could  fix  it  for  you." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr. 
Blair,"  said  Alida,  putting  out  her 
hand  as  the  young  man,  his  errand 
now  accomplished,  was  making  for 
the  door. 

Mr.  Blair  shook  it  with  a  hearty 
grip.  ' '  You  won't  let  on  'twas  me  ? ' ' 
he  said  knowingly  to  Jim. 

165 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"No,  indeed,  and  thank  you  for 
coming." 

"Wasn't  it  good  of  Mm?"  cried 
Dorothy,  when  the  door  closed.  "I 
just  hope  he  will  get  to  be  a  reporter 
and  an  editor  and  everything  else  that 
is  fine." 

"  Do  you  really  think  you  can  stop 
the  article  ?  "  said  Alida  breathlessly. 
Despite  Jim's  comforting  assurance 
she  connected  the  making  of  a  paper 
with  things  unalterable,  like  the  solar 
system  and  gravitation.  Jim's  kindly 
heart  held  an  immense  amount  of  con- 
sideration for  all  feminine  creatures. 
Alida  in  distress  appealed  to  every 
fibre  of  his  being. 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  can,  only  " — he 
stammered,  trying  not  to  hurt  her — 
"you  must  excuse  my  asking  the 
question,  but  are  you  engaged  to  Mr. 

Herford  or  not?  " 

166 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Alida  simply  shook  her  head  in 
denial. 

"  Then  I'm  off;  I'll  tell  them  they 
can  print  anything  they  like  about 
your  pictures  or  studio,  but  nothing 
personal.  Now  don't  worry  one  bit. 
Tommy  Ashley  will  fix  the  whole 
thing  up  for  me  in  a  jiffy;  he's  the 
best  sort.  Dorothy  will  stay  with 
you  until  I  come  back." 

"  Oh,  go,  do,  you  dear,  good,  big 
boy,"  cried  Alida,  tears  of  relief 
springing  to  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  go,"  cried  Dorothy. 

So  without  another  word  Mr.  Ash- 
ley seized  his  coat  and  flung  himself 
down  the  hall,  while  the  girls  stood 
looking  after  him,  dazed  with  astonish- 
ment at  the  whole  scene.  An  unfor- 
tunate love  affair  might  have  attrac- 
tions for  Dorothy's  romantic  mind  in 
theory,  but  to  know  that  in  real  life 

167 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

her  dear  friend  was  suffering  was  an- 
other matter.  She  knelt  down  beside 
Alida,  wrapping  her  in  her  strong 
young  arms,  and  for  a  few  moments 
the  two  girls  sobbed  together,  shed- 
ding tears  of  sympathy  that  brought 
relief  to  poor  Alida' s  troubled  heart. 


168 


CHAPTEK  VIII 

PHILIP  was  very  much  alarmed  at 
the  news  of  the  closing  of  the  theatre. 
He  went  immediately  to  the  Plaza 
Hotel,  but  Margaret  could  see  no  one. 
Barnes  met  him  in  the  little  perfumed 
sitting-room,  and  told  him,  with  per- 
fect frankness,  the  terrible  condition 
of  health  her  mistress  was  in,  and 
that  this  attack  was  no  worse  than 
many  she  had  had.  Barnes,  who  per- 
fectly adored  her  mistress,  yet  had 
little  patience  with  the  folly  of  a  per- 
son who,  to  finish  out  a  theatrical 
engagement,  would  delay  marrying 
either  a  duke  or  a  millionnaire,  wished 
that  either  of  the  men  would  insist  on 

169 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

marrying  Madame  Fremiet  then  and 
there.  She  exaggerated  her  mistress's 
condition  with  this  object  in  view, 
and  Philip  went  away  troubled  and 
torn  with  anxiety. 

The  Duke  came  in  a  few  minutes 
later  and  Barnes  went  over  the  same 
scene  with  him.  Being  an  English- 
woman, she  naturally  felt  that  a 
woman  who  might  be  a  duchess,  and 
wouldn't,  was  flying  in  the  face  of 
Providence. 

It  was  Sunday  morning  ;  a  warm, 
fresh,  spring-like  day,  the  sun  sweep- 
ing over  Fifth  Avenue,  blazoning  the 
bonnets  and  gowns  of  pretty  women 
on  their  way  to  church.  As  Philip 
went  along  he  bowed  continually  to 
right  and  left;  every  one  seemed 
abroad.  Mrs.  Beckington  flitted  by, 
and  Dorothy  and  Mrs. Mason,  carrying 

their  prayer-books,  to  St.  Thomas's. 
170 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

At  last  he  met  an  old  college  friend, 
"Tommy"  Barlow,  as  he  was  still 
called  by  his  contemporaries,  though 
he  was  now  junior  member  in  the  im- 
portant law  firm  of  Renwick,  Rains- 
ford  &  Barlow.  It  had  been  through 
this  firm  that  the  official  announce- 
ment of  her  husband  M.  Bonaven- 
ture's  death  and  of  the  disposition  of 
his  property  had  come  to  Madame 
Fremiet.  With  that  wonderful  in- 
sight that  comes  to  lawyers  and  physi- 
cians, making  their  consciences  strong- 
boxes to  hold  the  secrets  of  others' 
lives,  Mr.  Barlow  had  very  quickly 
realized  the  intimate  connection  of  his 
old  friend  with  the  celebrated  actress. 
He  was  so  charmed  with  the  dig- 
nity that  Margaret  showed  in  abso- 
lutely repudiating  any  wish  to  share 
in  her  husband's  estate  or  to  derive 
any  benefit  from  one  who,  in  his  life- 

171 


ALIDA    CRAia 

time,  had  never  been  anything  to  her 
but  an  influence  for  evil ;  that  he  ad- 
mired Margaret  as  much  for  her 
womanly  dignity  as  for  the  magnetic 
attraction  which  she  had  for  all  who 
came  in  contact  with  her. 

Mr.  Barlow  was  a  notable  pedes- 
trian, and  the  two  men  soon  struck 
out  of  the  fashionable  crowd,  and 
keeping  step  as  they  had  done  in  col- 
lege marching,  covered  block  after 
block,  exploring  the  border-lands  of 
the  new  parks  and  discussing  appro- 
priations, etc.,  as  though  their  lives 
depended  upon  the  solution  of  the 
city  problems.  Then  they  went  back 
for  lunch  to  Philip's  house  in  Forty- 
seventh  Street,  where,  after  the  man- 
ner of  bachelor  households,  the  meals 
were  very  much  at  the  whim  of  the 
master.  It  was  a  beautiful  house, 
full  of  rare  and  lovely  things,  and  the 

172 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

dining-room  where  they  sat  was  fur- 
nished with  old  carved  Italian  chairs 
from  some  Genoese  palace,  and  rich 
hangings  in  shades  of  peacock,  while  a 
frieze  of  the  sacred  birds  ran  around 
the  wall,  painted  by  a  famous  artist's 
hand  in  a  glory  of  gem-like  color. 

Mr.  Barlow  could  not  help  think- 
ing how  well  Madame  Fremiet  would 
fit  into  such  a  beautiful  setting  ;  how 
she  would  look,  with  the  regal  poise  of 
her  head  and  her  magnificent  shoul- 
ders, seated  in  one  of  the  great  chairs 
at  the  head  of  the  table.  Philip  was 
thinking  the  same  thing  too,  as  he 
had  thought  it  so  often  since  the  night 
of  his  majority,  when  he  had  allowed 
no  gayeties,  no  guests,  but  had  sat 
alone  in  the  beautiful  room,  with  one 
other  place  set  opposite  his  at  the 
table,  with  a  bunch  of  marguerites 
laid  beside  the  plate.  Then,  when  the 

173 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

butler  had  left  the  room,  he  had  stood 
up  and  drank  to  Margaret,  who  was 
hundreds  of  miles  away.  Perhaps  it 
was  fantastic — well,  youth  may  be 
forgiven  for  its  fantasy;  it  passes 
quickly  enough,  and  then  there  is  no 
more  poetry  in  the  calm  reason  that 
experience  has  taught. 

Philip's  train  of  thought  was  inter- 
rupted as  his  eye  caught  the  glint  of 
a  gold  frame  that  hung  in  the  picture 
gallery,  opening  out  of  the  room 
where  they  sat — the  frame  that  he 
knew  so  well,  on  Alida's  little  picture, 
which  had  been  the  cause  of  their 
meeting  and  friendship.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  almost  envied  Mr.  Barlow 
the  recollection  of  a  quiet  grave  up 
among  the  New  England  hills,  where 
they  had  laid  his  sweetheart  many 
years  before.  "Whose  loss  had  cut 

deep  lines  and  thinned  his  hair  long 

174 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

before  his  time,  and  made  him  the 
most  confirmed  of  gentle  bachelors. 

"  I've  just  had  some  new  Elzevirs 
sent  over  from  the  Due  de  Komar- 
teau's  sale  at  the  Hotel  Drouot. 
Won't  you  come  up  to  the  library 
and  see  them?  "  he  said. 

It  was  a  long  day  in  spite  of  the  Elze- 
virs. Philip  had  been  cut  to  the  heart 
by  Barnes's  description  of  her  mis- 
tress's sufferings.  He  wanted  to  see 
Margaret,  to  assure  her  of  his  devo- 
tion, and  he  thanked  heaven  that  he 
had  not  laid  an  extra  burden  of  sor- 
row on  her  shoulders  through  any 
selfishness  in  his  love  for  Alida.  The 
concealment  of  her  illness  touched 
him  infinitely.  Brave  Margaret,  striv- 
ing to  keep  up  her  queenly  regalness. 
"  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner," 
he  thought.  He  went  up  to  the  Plaza 

in  the  evening  again,  but  the  physi- 
175 


ALIDA    CRAIG 


cian  had  absolutely  forbidden  Marga- 
ret seeing  him;  she  sent  out  a  little 
note  by  Barnes,  playful  and  gay  as 
ever. 


"  I  am  better,  but  so  lazy  and  tired. 
Don't  worry  about  me.  I  shall  be  up 
to-morrow,  and  will  be  able  to  finish 
out  my  engagement. 

"  Good  night. 

"MARGABET.  " 

Philip  went  on  to  Mrs.  Beckington's, 
for  he  knew  she  would  be  anxious  to 
hear  the  latest  report  from  the  sick 
one.  The  house  was  crowded  with 
guests,  assembled  for  an  informal 
Sunday  night  musicale.  He  was  not 
in  the  mood  to  be  gay  or  even  decently 
civil  to  the  beautifully  gowned  women 
who  were  scattered  about  in  groups  of 
exquisite  color  pictures.  After  whis- 

176 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

pering  a  few  words  to  Bertha,  he  was 
going  away,  when  she  said : 

"  Don't  go;  Paderewski  is  going  to 
play.  Kim  up  in  the  library,  it  will  be 
perfectly  quiet  there.  Stay,  Philip, 
do ;  you  look  so  white  and  ashy  that  I 
can't  bear  to  have  you  go.  I'll  turn 
all  the  women  out  first." 

He  saw  that  her  soft,  sympathetic 
little  heart  was  really  troubled,  and 
gladly  went  upstairs  out  of  the  chat- 
ter and  din  of  high  feminine  voices,  to 
the  dim,  cool  library,  where  he  dropped 
into  a  big  leather  chair,  wearied  in 
body  and  mind.  The  chatter  of  gay 
voices  that  reached  his  ears  suddenly 
ceased;  the  big  house  was  silent. 
Philip  listened  as  the  first  tones  of 
the  melody  began.  Paderewski  was 
playing,  and  after  the  disturbance  of 
the  past  weeks  the  notes  fell  like  balm 
on  his  sore  spirit. 

177 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

I  am.  not  going  to  devote  much 
space  to  a  description  of  the  great 
pianist's  art;  only  let  any  one  whose 
soul  is  distraught  and  vexed  with  the 
cares  of  the  world  look  back  to  the 
exquisite  simplicity,  the  sincerity  of 
nature,  with  which  he  interprets  the 
Schubert  melodies.  They  took  Philip 
away  to  the  healing  influence  of  green 
woods,  full  of  cool,  gray,  summer 
shadows,  where  the  piping  of  little 
birds  is  the  only  sound  and  the  light 
of  lovers'  eyes  the  only  speech.  He 
crouched  in  the  corner,  hiding  even 
from  the  dim  light.  Then  applause 
and  a  chatter  of  voices  reached  him, 
then  quiet  and  the  clear,  joyous  tones 
again.  A  cool  breath  seemed  to  be 
passing  over  his  fevered  soul;  he 
was  coming  out  into  the  calm  after 
the  storm  and  stress  of  the  past 
weeks. 

178 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

The  library  was  a  quaint  place, 
lined  with  shelves  and  made  into 
small  alcoves  by  low  book-cases,  so 
that  several  people,  in  their  nooks, 
might  enjoy  the  privacy  of  their  fa- 
vorite volumes.  When  the  music 
ceased,  Philip  sat  crouched  in  his 
chair  undisturbed  for  a  long  time, 
and  was  so  absorbed  in  thought 
that  he  scarcely  noticed  the  gentle 
swish  of  a  skirt  that  passed  him  by, 
and  settled  itself  in  another  alcove. 
The  room  was  so  still  that  the  new- 
comers, evidently  thinking  that  they 
were  the  only  occupants,  soon  forgot 
to  cautiously  lower  their  voices.  The 
couple  were  no  other  than  Dorothy 
Mason  and  Mr.  Ashley,  who  had 
stolen  away  after  the  music  was  over 
to  snatch  a  moment's  tete-a-tete.  The 
tete-a-tete,  however,  having  been 
snatched,  did  not  seem  to  bring  that 

179 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

unalloyed  happiness  with  it  that  they 
had  anticipated. 

Dorothy  was  looking  bewitchingly 
pretty,  but  she  was  also  bewitchingly 
teasing.  Lately  she  had  been  flirting 
so  wildly  that  Jim's  heart  was  quite 
broken.  He  had  come  to  Mrs.  Beck- 
ington's  firmly  resolved  to  master  his 
lady  love,  but  his  courage  quite  failed 
him  at  her  sweet  looks,  and  he  would 
have  put  off  his  scolding  until  the 
morrow  had  not  Dorothy,  nestling 
like  a  glowing  rose  in  the  arms  of  the 
big  leather  chair,  begun  a  series  of 
pin-picking  teasings.  He  answered 
her  at  random  for  some  time,  which 
only  increased  her  naughtiness.  Final- 
ly he  arose  and  stood  towering  over 
her  in  an  attitude  of  great  dignity. 
Utterly  ignoring  the  air  of  persiflage 
with  which  she  had  been  treating  him 
for  the  past  half  hour,  he  began  a  long, 

180 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

stammering  monologue  which  finally 
conveyed  to  Dorothy's  astonished 
mind  the  idea  that  she  had  been 
brought  up  to  the  library  that  Jim 
might  break  to  her  as  gently  as  pos- 
sible the  fact  that  their  engagement 
was  at  an  end.  He  was  so  quiet  and 
determined  that  Dorothy  could  only 
look  at  him  with  horror-stricken  eyes. 
His  face  twitched  nervously,  an  evi- 
dence to  Dorothy  of  deep  emotion ;  he 
was  embarrassed,  grieved,  but  evi- 
dently bent  on  separation. 

"  You  see,  Dorothy,  you  wouldn't 
have  it  announced,"  he  stammered, 
"  and  I — "  — it  went  to  Jim's  kindly 
heart  to  even  make  believe  care  for 
any  other  woman — ' '  I'm — ' '  He  was 
unable  to  get  any  further,  but  took 
out  of  his  pocket  a  copy  of  the  Town 
Tattler  and  began  to  read  from  it: 
"Mr.  Ashley,  member  of  the  Calu- 

181 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

met,  etc.,  is  reported  to  be  engaged  to 
Miss  Alma — " 

He  got  no  further.  Dorothy  sprang 
from  her  chair  wildly  and  took  hold 
of  his  arm;  her  voice  rang  through 
the  ears  of  the  occupant  of  the  next 
alcove. 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self, Jim  Ashley,  flirting  so  when  you 
know  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul!  Oh — "  and  in  a  torrent  of 
tears  she  threw  her  engagement  ring 
at  him  and  flew  out  of  the  room,  a 
whirl  of  flowing  tulle  and  ribbons. 

Jim  stood  petrified.  His  careful- 
ly thought-out  plan  hadn't  succeeded 
very  well.  There  was  a  great  lump  in 
his  throat  as  he  picked  up  the  ring, 
which  he  had  bought  with  a  great 
slice  of  his  sophomore  allowance,  and 
which  Dorothy  had  worn  so  faithfully 
ever  since.  Philip,  roused  by  the 

182 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

girl's  flight,  thought  it  was  about 
time  he  should  make  his  presence 
known.  He  rose,  and  looked  over  the 
top  of  the  dividing  book-case,  and 
there  stood  Jim  gazing  blankly  at 
the  little  gold  circlet  that  lay  in  his 
broad  palm. 

"  May  I  ask,  Jim,"  he  said  kindly, 
"  what  is  the  meaning  of  your  corral- 
ing  my  sister's  guests  and  scaring 
them  into  hysterics  ?  " 

Jim  started  at  seeing  the  sudden 
apparition  of  Philip's  face  looking  at 
him  over  the  book-case.  There  was  a 
moment's  pause,  and  then  he  went 
around  into  the  other  alcove  and 
talked  about  Dorothy.  Jim  had 
been  a  very  little  boy  when  Philip 
was  a  big  one,  and  the  younger  man 
still  looked  up  to  the  elder  with  the 
admiration,  if  not  with  the  awe,  of  his 

childish  days.  He  poured  out  his  whole 
183 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

heart  about  his  engagement  and  Dor- 
othy's foolish,  romantic  notions.  Jim 
was  not  particularly  brilliant,  but 
when  he  had  an  idea  he  had  it  strong. 
He  confided  to  Philip  that  it  had  struck 
him  after  he  had  reproached  Dorothy 
for  the  article  that  had  appeared  in 
the  Town  Tattler,  announcing  her 
engagement  to  the  Duke  of  Axmin- 
ster,  that  if  such  an  article  should  ap- 
pear about  himself,  it  might  make  her 
jealous  and  bring  her  to  terms.  But, 
alas  for  his  cleverly  concocted  plan,  it 
had  been  carried  out  most  disastrously. 
In  their  two  years'  engagement  they 
had  had  many  quarrels,  but  never 
one  so  serious  as  this,  for  Dorothy 
had  returned  him  his  ring.  He  held 
out  the  little  circle  pathetically  to 
Philip,  the  poor  little  ring  that  had 
been  so  faithfully  worn  for  two  years. 
Philip  listened  sympathetically. 

184 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"If  I  were  you,"  he  said,  "I 
shouldn't  be  the  least  bit  discouraged. 
I'd  go  right  downstairs  now  and  find 
Dorothy;  she's  probably  nearer  giv- 
ing in  than  she's  ever  been  before. 
I'd  run  right  along." 

Jim  went.  He  found  Dorothy  in 
her  pretty  evening  cloak,  ready  to  go 
home;  the  carriage  was  waiting  for 
her,  and  she  went  swiftly  downstairs 
past  him,  followed  by  her  mother's 
middle-aged  maid  carrying  her  flowers 
and  fan.  Jim  followed  them  out  to 
the  carriage;  it  was  a  clear  moonlight 
night.  He  laid  his  hand  masterfully 
on  Dorothy's  arm. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said;  then 
he  helped  the  maid  into  the  carriage. 
The  Masons'  house  was  only  a  few 
blocks  away.  "We  are  going  to 
walk  around,"  he  said,  with  such  an 
air  of  authority  that  the  servant,  who 

185 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

was,  as  all  good  servants  are,  highly 
interested  in  the  affairs  of  the  family, 
thought  something  must  have  hap- 
pened. 

Jim  drew  Dorothy's  hand  through 
his  arm.  Her  face  was  tear-stained 
and  gentle,  and  she  looked  bewitch- 
ingly  pretty  with  her  curls  blowing  in 
the  wind,  as  they  escaped  from  the 
lace  fichu  that  was  tied  around  her 
head. 

We  will  leave  them  walking  through 
the  moonlit  streets.  Only  half  a 
dozen  blocks,  but  what  a  difference  it 
made!  When  they  reached  the  Ma- 
sons' house  the  engagement  ring  had 
mysteriously  found  its  way  again  into 
Dorothy's  possession,  only  this  time 
it  was  on  her  finger. 

"I'll  come  and  see  you  to-morrow 
morning,"  said  Jim,  as  the  footman 

bustled  down  from  the  carriage  to  let 
186 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Dorothy  in,  as  though  she  had  come 
home  quite  as  she  should  have. 

He  went  down  the  street  with  long, 
rapid  strides,  down  the  street  that 
was  so  different  now  that  there  was 
no  Dorothy  walking  beside  him, 
bunched  up  in  her  long  cloak  and 
making  his  steps  slow  and  irregular  as 
she  pattered  along  in  her  fur  boots. 
There  are  romances — yes,  though  we 
grow  rich  and  well  dressed  and  keep  a 
carriage;  aye,  even  in  our  nineteenth 
century,  and  our  Dorothys  and  Mr. 
Ashleys  still  walk  in  the  moonlight, 
and  the  maid  whispers  to  the  coach- 
man, and  he  drives  the  carriage 
around  by  the  side  street  to  meet 
them  at  the  door,  as  though  every- 
thing were  quite  regular. 

When  the  last  guest  had  gone  and 
the  last  carriage  rolled  away — quite 

early,  too,  only  twelve  o'clock,  for  it 

187 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

is  a  law  that  Sunday  entertainments 
are  early — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beckington 
went  up  to  their  rooms  for  the  night. 
Bertha's  eyes  were  bright  with  excite- 
ment and  the  joy  of  the  great  pianist's 
music.  As  she  began  unfastening  her 
bodice,  her  husband,  noticing  the 
sweet  expression  that  her  face  wore, 
bent  down  and  kissed  her  reverently. 
He  had  been  married  too  long  to  be 
surprised,  or  in  fact  to  have  it  detract 
from  his  worshipful  love  of  her,  that 
her  little  rosebud  mouth,  upon  return- 
ing his  kiss,  murmured  sweetly : 
11  Oh,  Clarence,  I'm  so  hungry." 
' '  Are  you,  dear  ?  I'll  go  down  and 
see  if  there  isn't  some  supper  left." 

"No,  I  don't  want  salads  and 
things  ;  I  wish — oh — "  she  pursed  up 
her  mouth  into  the  most  delightful 
red  button — "how  I  wish  I  had  a 
pie!  " 

188 


ALIDA   CRAIG 

No  wonder  her  husband  adored 
Mrs.  Beckington:  she  was  the  most 
delightful  creature,  she  looked  like 
a  cunning  cherub,  was  hungry  and 
wanted  pie. 

"Go  down  and  forage,  that's  a 
dear, ' '  she  said  coaxingly ;  ' '  get  some- 
thing good,  we  can  eat  it  up  here.  I 
don't  doubt  the  servants  have  pies  and 
all  sorts  of  good  things  that  we  never 
have." 

Thus  urged,  Mr.  Beckington  put 
on  his  coat  and  went  downstairs,  and 
Bertha  slipped  out  of  her  dress  and 
into  a  charming  pink  negligee.  Early 
in  the  course  of  her  married  life  this 
little  fragile  woman  had  utterly  sub- 
dued her  husband  by  the  indigestible 
things  that  she  could  eat  at  midnight. 
Never  a  large  eater,  salads,  pates  and 
party  suppers  were  nothing  to  her. 
She  slept  like  a  top  after  coffee;  "Welsh 

189 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

rabbits  never  made  her  turn  in  her 
sleep,  and  once  she  had  confessed  that 
her  favorite  midnight  dish  was  hard- 
boiled  eggs  and  crackers. 

It  always  tickled  Mr.  Beckington's 
sense  of  humor  to  go  prowling  around 
with  a  candle  in  his  own  house,  steal- 
ing eatables  from  his  own  butler's 
pantry.  He  returned  to  his  wife  with 
a  bottle  of  champagne  and  a  pie — a 
big,  handsome  mince  pie.  They  set 
the  tray  on  a  little  Louis  Quinze  table, 
and  Mrs.  Beckington  ate  her  piece 
with  such  a  relish  that  her  example 
was  quite  infectious,  and  her  husband 
could  not  forbear  helping  himself  to 
one  too.  They  had  a  good  time  to- 
gether, these  young  married  people, 
sitting  in  their  cosey  chairs  drinking 
their  champagne  and  talking  over 
the  evening  and  their  friends;  Mrs. 

Beckington,   as    a  woman   will,   ex- 
190 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

pecting  her  husband  to  take  a  deep 
interest  in  how  well  Miss  R.  looked, 
and  what  an  ugly  gown  Mrs.  J.  had 
on,  etc. ,  for  nothing  passed  unnoticed 
by  her  bright  eyes,  despite  her  duties 
as  a  hostess  and  her  enjoyment  of 
Paderewski's  playing.  The  pie  be- 
came quite  a  wreck  of  its  former  self 
during  their  talk,  and  it  was  nearly 
two  o'clock  before  they  thought  that 
it  was  getting  late,  and  Mr.  Becking- 
ton  rushed  off  to  his  dressing-room. 
At  last  Bertha  laid  her  pretty  head 
on  her  pillow,  and  before  she  dropped 
into  the  dreamless,  childlike  sleep  that 
comes  to  those  so  healthy  in  mind  and 
body,  she  thought  how  happy  all  her 
life  was,  how  good  her  husband  was, 
how  much  every  one  loved  her.  She 
had  noticed,  during  the  music,  tears  in 
Alida's  eyes,  which  the  girl  tried  to 
choke  back.  It  seemed  to  Bertha  as 

191 


ALIDA   CRAIG 

though  her  tears  were  different  from 
the  pearly  tribute  that  so  many  of 
the  other  women  shed  in  homage  to 
the  great  pianist,  and  she  had  put  out 
her  hand  and  held  Alida's  under  the 
cover  of  her  tulle  skirt. 

"I  hope  poor  little  Alida  will  be 
happy  some  day  too — as  happy  as  I 
am,"  was  her  last  thought  as  she 
fell  asleep. 


192 


CHAPTER  IX 

ALTHOUGH  the  objectionable  para- 
graph concerning  Philip  did  not  ap- 
pear in  the  Evening  budget,  the 
unpleasant  circumstance  did  not  pass 
quickly  from  Alida's  mind.  The 
article,  illustrated  by  a  badly  drawn 
sketch  of  herself  and  one  of  her  pic- 
tures, came  out  in  the  course  of  time, 
and  a  copy  was  sent  to  her.  She 
read  over  the  list  of  her  charms  and 
accomplishments  with  some  amuse- 
ment, wondering  why  people  should 
care  for  such  trivialities.  Dorothy 
and  Mrs.  Beckington  were  quite 
pleased  with  the  article,  only  they 
did  not  think  that  it  praised  her  work 

193 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

quite  enough.  Jenny  Brady  loved  it ; 
she  read  it  to  all  her  friends  and 
dilated  upon  it  enthusiastically.  One 
day  she  confided  to  Alida  that  a  par- 
ticular gentleman  friend  of  hers  had 
written  it. 

Alida  never  had  the  heart  to  tell 
her  the  annoyance  of  the  interview; 
she  was  very  glad  of  her  forbearance, 
as  Jenny's  confidences  concerning  the 
"particular  gentleman  friend"  grew 
more  and  more  frequent,  until  she 
finally  announced  that  she  was  going 
to  be  married — and  to  whom  but  Mr. 
Blair,  the  sturdy  reporter  of  the 
Evening  Budget  with  whom  we  have 
a  slight  acquaintance  ? 

Let  no  one  look  askance  at  the 
mundane  love  of  a  chorus  girl,  eking 
out  her  pittance  posing  for  angels, 
and  a  young  man  connected  with  the 
mysterious  inner  workings  of  the 

194 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

blurredly  printed  and  unreliable  Even- 
ing Budget.  Probably  no  woman 
ever  took  a  deeper  interest  than 
Jenny  in  the  details  of  her  modest 
trousseau,  and  surely  there  is  a  senti- 
ment about  wedding  clothes,  even 
though  they  be  bought  at  bargain  sales 
in  cheap  shops.  As  for  the  narrow 
Harlem  house  that  they  were  having 
fitted  up  on  the  installment  plan  by 
an  Eighth  Avenue  furnishing  house, 
it  was  "home"  to  them,  and  they 
took  a  tremendous  amount  of  pride  in 
it;  and  though  it  was  only  a  vulgar 
little  place,  with  bright  carpets  and 
Nottingham  lace  curtains,  I  doubt,  if 
judged  from  a  really  aesthetic  stand- 
point— as,  for  instance,  from  the 
standard  of  even  the  lowest  caste  of 
Japanese — it  would  have  been  con- 
sidered any  worse  taste  than  some  of 
our  wealthiest  houses. 

195 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

When  Jenny's  father  from  his 
downtown  liquor  saloon  heard  of  his 
daughter's  approaching  marriage — he 
had  not  taken  the  slightest  notice 
of  her  for  years — he  sent  her  word 
that  he  had  heard  of  the  great  mar- 
riage that  she  was  going  to  make  with 
the  literary  gent,  and  that  he  was 
quite  willing  to  give  her  a  fine  wed- 
ding, hire  Minerva  Hall  and  do  every- 
thing in  great  style.  Truth  to  tell, 
the  real  meaning  of  these  magnificent 
overtures  on  the  part  of  Jenny's 
father  was  to  be  laid  to  the  fact  that 
his  rival,  on  the  opposite  corner  of 
Hester  Street,  had  just  married  off 
his  only  daughter  in  great  style,  with 
the  ceremony  in  the  cathedral,  and  a 
wedding  breakfast  which  had  been 
attended  by  four  or  five  hundred 
people,  as  had  been  duly  reported 

in    the    papers    the    following  day. 
196 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

There  had  been  the  severest  rivalry 
between  the  opposition  shops  for 
many  years.  Mr.  Brady  never  felt 
that  he  had  been  gotten  the  better  of 
until  the  wedding.  He  could  scarcely 
be  married  himself,  having  a  middle- 
aged  and  devoted  wife,  but  he  really 
thought  of  hunting  up  his  daughter 
and  seeing  if  she  wouldn't  marry 
somebody  to  put  the  nose  of  "that 
Donovan "  out  of  joint.  Maggie 
Donovan  had  only  married  the  bar- 
tender in  her  father's  saloon,  and 
when  Mr.  Brady  heard  of  Jenny's 
approaching  marriage  to  Mr.  Blair 
his  paternal  bosom  swelled  with 
pride. 

But  Jenny  was  not  to  be  tempted 
by  a  list  of  the  magnificent  presents 
that  the  politicians  had  sent  to  Maggie 
Donovan,  nor  by  the  vast  quantities 
of  champagne  that  Mr.  Brady  guaran- 

197 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

teed  should  flow.  She  had  not  associ- 
ated so  long  with  Alida  without  gain- 
ing some  elements  of  refinement. 

"I'm  going  to  be  married  like  a 
lady,"  was  all  she  said  in  reply  to  her 
father. 

And  so  she  was,  quietly  one  morn- 
ing in  church,  in  a  gray  travelling 
dress  that  fitted  her  magnificent  fig- 
ure like  a  skin.  But  we  are  going 
ahead  too  fast:  Jenny  Brady  will  not 
be  married  for  many  days  yet ;  she  is 
still  posing  for  Alida,  who,  as  long  as 
daylight  lasts,  is  working  as  usual. 
The  cartoon  of  the  angels  has  long 
since  been  finished,  and  now  all  her 
energies  are  bent  on  the  completion 
of  her  picture  for  the  Society.  It  is 
a  quaint  mediaeval  canvas  glowing 
with  rich  aesthetic  color,  a  dream  of 
sad,  pale  languor,  that  had  caught 

Alida's  fancy  in  reading  Swinburne's 
198 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

adaptation  of  "  How  Lisa  Loved  the 
King." 

Jenny  was  the  most  sympathetic  of 
models ;  she  could  look  like  a  powerful 
avenging  angel,  or  limp  and  clinging 
as  a  flower,  as  the  case  might  be. 
The  quaintness  of  her  mediaeval  robes 
pleased  her  fancy,  and  she  liked  lying 
back  among  soft  pillows,  one  hand 
stretched  out  as  though  just  lightly 
passed  over  the  strings  of  a  tall  Flor- 
entine lyre.  She  would  talk  some- 
times, sometimes  half  dream,  and 
often,  weary  with  late  hours,  go 
fast  asleep,  her  trained  muscles  keep- 
ing the  pose.  She  had  been  asleep 
the  most  of  one  afternoon,  and  started 
awake  with  surprise  when  Alida  said: 

"  Jenny,  time's  up." 

She  unwrapped  the  draperies  in 
which  she  was  bound  and  uncoiled  her 
long  hair  from  its  "platters,"  as  she 

199 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

called  the  large  plaits  in  which  medi- 
aeval ladies  did  their  hair  on  the 
sides  of  their  faces.  Refreshed  by  her 
long  sleep,  she  was  gorgeously  hand- 
some; her  white  shoulders  gleamed 
from  above  her  chemise  and  her  glori- 
ous mane  of  auburn  hair  threw  out 
the  milky  whiteness  of  her  skin. 
Alida  looked  at  her,  thinking  for  the 
thousandth  time  what  a  glowing  bit 
of  color  and  form  she  was. 

"  You'll  come  and  pose  for  me  now 
and  then  after  you  are  married,  won't 
you,  Jenny?  "  she  said;  "  just  to  keep 
my  eye  for  color  up  to  the  mark." 

Jenny  laughed;  she  enjoyed  being 
admired.  Marriage  in  her  station  was 
a  good  deal  more  of  a  game  of  give 
and  take  than  in  higher  circles.  She 
didn't  think  Mr.  Blair  would  mind 
her  doing  anything  she  wanted  to  do, 
and  even  if  he  did  he  surely  wouldn't 

200 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

object  to  her  posing  for  Alida.  Alida 
had  given  much  thought  to  what  she 
should  give  Jenny  for  a  wedding  gift. 
She  thought  the  girl  might  like  to 
have  one  of  her  sketches,  but  she 
wasn't  sure;  she  sounded  her,  and 
found  that  it  was  the  one  thing  more 
than  all  others  that  she  craved. 
Jenny  had  no  interrupting  shopping 
to  do  this  afternoon,  so  Alida  gave 
her  a  big  portfolio  of  water  colors, 
telling  her  to  pick  out  one  she  liked. 
She  watched  the  girl  bending  over  the 
portfolio,  and  made  a  hasty  sketch  on 
the  side  of  the  canvas  of  the  back  of 
her  head  and  her  superb  Angelesque 
shoulders.  Jenny  looked  through  the 
portfolio  and  selected  two  or  three  to 
choose  from. 

"  I  can't  decide  a  bit,"  she  said  at 
last,  raising  her  head  almost  shyly. 
"  To  tell  the  truth,  Miss  Craig,  there's 

201 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

one  I'd  like  to  have  better  than  any 
of  these,  but  I  don't  know  as  you'll 
like  to  give  it  to  me.  It's  that  woman 
on  the  wall.  You  see  I've  always 
had  to  keep  my  eyes  on  her  when  I've 
been  posing;  I  thought  she  was  aw- 
fully ugly  at  first,  but  somehow  she 
kind  of  growed  on  me.  It  had  a  look 
of  you,  some  way,  and  it  would  kind 
of  remind  me  of  you  and  the  posing." 
She  pointed  to  a  photograph  on  the 
wall  as  she  spoke;  it  was  a  beautiful 
Braun  print  of  Mona  Lisa. 

Alida  caught  her  breath ;  it  was  one 
of  the  happiest  moments  of  her  life. 
Had  she  really  been  such  a  good  influ- 
ence in  the  girl's  life — had  she  really 
unintentionally  led  her  to  think  the 
Mona  Lisa  beautiful  ? 

11  You  can  certainly  have  that;  it's 
a  photograph,  and  I'll  get  you  one  like 
it,"  she  said  warmly.  "You  can 

202 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

have  a  water  color  too  ; "  and  Jenny 
selected  a  little  coast  scene  because 
Tom  was  fond  of  the  sea. 

The  possession  of  the  two  pictures 
was  a  crowning  glory  of  the  Blairs' 
house,  and  they  were  hung  in  con- 
spicuous positions  in  the  little  parlor, 
which  was  otherwise  ornamented  by 
a  suit  of  red  plush  furniture  and  some 
gilt  chairs  and  tables. 

When  Jenny  had  gone,  Alida  curled 
herself  up,  tired  out,  in  a  cushioned 
and  pillowed  corner  by  the  fire.  She 
lit  a  little  lamp  that  was  fastened  into 
the  woodwork  at  the  head  of  her 
couch,  and  prepared  for  a  happy  hour 
with  "The  Newcomes."  The  soft 
light  on  her  book  grew  indistinct  as 
she  read  over  the  last  chapters,  which 
she  almost  knew  by  heart.  She  closed 
the  book  before  she  came  to  the  chap- 
ter where  the  Colonel  says  "  Adsum  " 
303 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

— her  heart  was  too  sore  to  read  again 
those  pathetic  chapters.  Her  thoughts 
ran  away  to  the  old  Grey  Friars 
school,  where  she  had  gone  one  murky 
morning  when  in  London.  The  little 
marble  cloister,  lined  with  tablets  to 
its  talented  sons,  the  old  building,  the 
little  chapel  where  Pendennis  saw  the 
old  Colonel's  bowed  head  at  prayer, 
all  came  back  to  her.  The  children 
are  gone  from  Grey  Friars  now, 
moved  away  into  some  more  healthy 
locality;  the  place  is  very  quiet  save 
for  the  old  pensioners.  There  was 
scarcely  a  sound  in  the  building  save 
the  clatter  of  Alida's  feet  following 
the  slow-paced  old  verger;  he  was  a 
nice  old  man  and  had  not  hurried  her, 
letting  her  sit  for  a  moment  in  the  old 
pew  that  Thackeray  might  have  sat 
in  when  he  was  a  boy.  She  had 

given  him   half  a  crown   when  she 
204 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

went  away,  and  he  had  told  her  to 
come  to  afternoon  service,  that  the 
singing  was  very  fine.  She  never 
went — she  liked  best  to  think  of  the 
place  peopled  by  the  memories  of 
those  who,  though  they  existed  only 
on  paper,  were  more  real  to  her  than 
the  crowd  that  would  come  to  listen 
to  the  Sunday  music. 

Ordinarily,  cuddled  up  as  she  was 
in  a  nice  warm  corner,  tired  out  with 
her  day's  work,  Alida  would  have  put 
her  hands  up  under  her  chin,  a  baby- 
ish habit  that  she  had  never  outgrown, 
and  gone  to  sleep.  But  lately  her 
fine  nerves  had  become  strangely  out 
of  her  control,  unless  she  was  at  work 
or  with  others.  The  glory  of  the  pic- 
tures in  the  Louvre,  of  the  Rem- 
brandts  and  Yelasquezs,  was  just  the 
same,  but  somehow  she  could  no 
longer  dream  of  them  by  the  hour,  or 

205 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

be  absolutely  happy  in  the  artistic 
working  out  of  her  pictures.  She 
would  take  up  a  book  as  of  old,  but 
her  thoughts  would  soon  stray  away 
from  the  printed  page  to  other  things, 
and  then  suddenly  her  whole  soul 
would  be  crying  Philip!  Philip! 
Philip!  She  never  imagined  or 
thought  that  anything  could  possibly 
change,  but  as  she  had  lived  she  ex- 
pected always  to  go  on,  apart  from 
the  joys  of  ordinary  life,  the  ties  of 
home  and  of  family  love.  In  the  rev- 
elation of  her  lover's  first  kiss  she 
had  realized  the  desolation  of  her  lot. 
Night  after  night  she  sobbed  herself 
to  sleep,  not  in  bitterness  or  complain- 
ing, but  because  something  was  lost, 
something  which  for  twenty-four 
hours  had  brought  her  in  touch  with 
the  world  of  men  and  women,  mak- 
ing her  half  break  from  the  spell 
206 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

which  her  rapt  life  had  woven,  mak- 
ing her  personality  quaint  and  inter- 
esting, but  scarcely  more  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  than  some  faint  lady 
on  a  faded  tapestry.  The  intensity  of 
her  emotion  prevented  her  keeping  still 
any  longer;  she  walked  up  and  down, 
trying  to  stop  thinking,  thinking. 

It  was  a  relief  at  last  when  she 
heard  the  door  of  the  next  apartment 
close  and  a  brisk  step  come  down  the 
hall.  "I  can't  be  alone  like  this," 
she  thought.  "It  just  kills  me. 
There's  Miss  "Wells  going  out  to  din- 
ner, and  it's  such  a  rainy  night.  I 
wonder  if  she  won't  stay  with  me. 
Miss  Wells — ah,  Miss  Wells  !  "  she 
called,  running  and  thrusting  her 
head  out  of  the  door;  " won't  you 
come  and  dine  with  me  ?  You'll  cer- 
tainly melt  away  if  you  go  out  in  this 
pour.  Chloe  is  concocting  the  most 

207 


ALIDA   CRAIG 

delicious    gumbo;    please    come    and 
share  it." 

"ISTo  reasonable  offer  refused," 
called  back  Miss  Wells  in  a  lively 
tone.  "  But  just  wait  for  a  moment 
until  I  put  away  my  umbrella  and 
gums.  You'll  excuse  evening  dress, 
I  presume,  but  if  not  I'll  put  on  a 
white  tie." 

"  You  needn't  mind  about  the  tie." 
"How  jolly  this  is!"  said  Miss 
Wells,  standing  before  the  fire  with 
her  hands  in  her  pockets,  and  gazing 
at  the  pretty  table  which  Chloe  had 
drawn  up  comfortably  near  the  blaz- 
ing logs.  "I'd  like  to  keep  house 
myself  if  only  I  could  find  a  twin  sis- 
ter of  the  invaluable  Chloe.  But  the 
nine  maids  in  one  month,  which  was 
my  last  effort  in  the  domestic  line, 
have  made  me  very  well  content  with 
cheerless  restaurant  dinners.  After 

208 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

all,  a  woman  can't  do  everything. 
Sometimes  I  think  it  would  be  real 
nice  to  have  a  quiet,  domestic  little 
husband  who  would  look  after  things 
while  I  was  downtown.  I'd  make 
him  feel  real  self-respecting — why,  I'd 
give  him  an  allowance.  Gumbo!  "  as 
Chloe  set  a  soup  plate  down  in  front 
of  her.  "  Young  woman,  if  you  don't 
appreciate  the  blessing  of  a  woman 
who  can  really  make  it,  you  deserve, 
late  in  life,  to  be  catered  for  by  a  raw 
Swede — my  ninth  was  a  Swede." 

Miss  Wells  was  about  forty,  of  large 
and  awful  proportions ;  her  dress  fitted 
to  a  nicety,  and  though  severely  plain 
in  design,  was  of  the  handsomest  ma- 
terial, and  showed  the  cut  of  a  first- 
rate  tailor.  Her  jacket  opened  over 
an  immaculate  shirt  front  and  a  doe- 
skin waistcoat. 

"  You  should  just  see  me  once  in  a 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

tea  gown,"  she  had  remarked  to  a 
friend  who  criticised  the  style  of  her 
dress.  "I  look  like  a  baby  elephant 
in  a  pillowcase." 

Her  round  red  face  glowed  with 
good  health  and  spirits,  and  her 
smooth  hair  was  cut  in  a  severe  bang 
across  her  forehead  and  rolled  in  a 
small  club  behind.  She  had  held  for 
years  an  important  position  in  one  of 
the  large  publishing  houses,  where  her 
desk  and  all  her  affairs  were  always 
as  thoroughly  up  to  the  mark  as  her 
appearance  would  suggest. 

"Won't  you  carve?"  said  Alida, 
as,  after  some  "fillet  of  sole"  which 
Chloe  had  a  habit  of  compounding 
out  of  plain  American  flounder,  a  nice 
little  roast  duck  was  brought  on.  "  I 
carve  so  badly." 

If  Miss  "Wells  had  a  weakness,  it 

was  her  carving  and  her  play  at  chess. 
210 


ALIDA    CRAIO 

She  laid  the  duck  out  now  with  the 
perfection  of  skill. 

"  A  dinner  of  two  and  a  duck  is 
perfect, ' '  she  said,  ' '  because  every  one 
gets  the  best  piece.  You  artists  are  so 
delightful,"  she  went  on,  as  she  filled 
up  her  beautiful  Venetian  glass  again ; 
"your  things  never  match.  Now  I 
always  used  to  have  my  things  in  sets 
until  I  came  to  live  here;  now  I'm 
perfectly  content  with  the  debris  the 
nine  left  me.  Won't  you  ask  your- 
self to  have  another  piece  of  duck,  as 
you  are  hostess?  " 

"  No  more,  thank  you,"  said  Alida. 

"  You  look  pale — do  you  know  it, 
my  child  ?  There  are  great  rings  under 
your  eyes;  you've  been  working  too 
hard,  I  suppose.  Is  that  the  picture 
you're  doing  ?  Is  it  done  ?  I  always 
like  an  artist  to  tell  me  when  things 
are  done;  one's  never  sure,  especially 

211 


ALIDA   CRAIG 

lately;  you  wouldn't  really  think  that 
things  were  commenced.  I'm  not 
really  a  judge,  but  I  should  suppose 
that  it  was  very  fine  if  one  knew.  I'm 
sure  I  hope  that  some  one  will  buy  it, 
and  that  you  will  get  a  real  good 
price." 

"It's  not  done  yet,  nothing  like; 
there  are  lots  of  things  to  be  done  to 
it.  Now,  although  you  carve  so  well, 
I  know  you  can't  dress  a  salad.  Wait 
until  you  see  how  this  one  turns  out ; 
I  think  you  will  like  it ;  "  mixing  the 
oil  and  vinegar  with  great  care,  and 
tossing  the  contents  of  the  great  gold 
medallion  bowl  about  thoroughly. 
"  There,  is  that  just  right  ?  " 

"Perfection.  A  little  more  salt, 
please;  there's  nothing  suits  me  quite 
like  a  Eussian  salad." 

They  finished  dinner,  and  Alida 
made  coffee  in  a  little,  shining  brass 

212 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

coffee-pot  that  turned  upside  down  in 
the  most  delightful  way.  She  enjoyed 
Miss  Wells 's  racy,  good-humored 
accounts  of  her  friends  and  their 
doings  and  sayings  ;  for  Miss  "Wells 
knew  everybody,  and  her  plain  face 
was  welcomed  in  all  sorts  and  condi- 
tions of  houses. 

"Have  you  been  downstairs  lately 
to  see  Mrs.  Bohm?  "  she  said,  as  she 
rose  to  go.  "Katie,  who  chores  for 
me,  said  this  morning  that  her  little 
boy  was  terribly  sick.  You  know  her, 
don't  you?" 

Alida's  conscience  smote  her ; 
wrapped  up  in  her  own  sorrows,  she 
had  scarcely  taken  thought  of  those 
under  the  same  roof. 

"Know  Mary  Bohm — of  course  I 
do;  we  were  students  together  in 
Paris.  Oh,  why  haven't  I  been  down 
to  see  her?"  she  cried,  reproaching 

213 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

herself.     "  Do  you  think  it  is  too  late 
to  go  now?" 

""Well,  Katie  said  the  child  was 
terribly  sick;  it's  awful  her  being 
there  alone  with  him.  I  wanted  to 
go  myself,  only  I  was  afraid  of  intrud- 
ing. You  can  see  if  there  is  a  light 
in  the  room,  and  if  there  is,  knock 
softly.  If  there  is  anything  I  can  do, 
call  on  me.  I  sleep  like  a  log,  but  I'm 
not  afraid  and  I'll  leave  the  door  un- 
locked. Good-night,  dear  little  girl. ' ' 
Then,  as  Alida  sped  downstairs  to 
Mrs.  Bohm's  apartment,  and  Miss 
"Wells  unlocked  her  door,  she  said  to 
herself:  "  Dear  me,  how  slight  and 
frail  she  is;  she's  fallen  away  in  the 
last  week;  she  ought  to  have  some- 
one to  look  after  her.  How  I  wish  I 
was  her  mother.  "Wouldn't  it  be  fine 
to  have  a  great  girl  like  that  to  come 
home  to?" 

214 


CHAPTER  X 

ALIDA  knocked  softly  twice  on 
Mrs.  Bohm's  door;  she  could  see  that 
the  gas  was  still  lighted,  but  there 
was  no  answer.  Something  impelled 
her  to  turn  the  handle  of  the  door, 
which  was  unlocked,  and  she  opened 
it  noiselessly  and  went  in.  As  she 
stood  for  a  moment  in  the  passage- 
way that  led  into  the  studio,  she 
could  hear  the  little  boy  crying  pite- 
ously. 

"Mary — Mary  Bohm,"  she  said 
softly;  "it  is  I,  Alida  Craig." 

Mrs.  Bohm  came  out  of  the  studio ; 
her  black  dress  emphasized  the  pallor 
of  her  face  and  the  great  rings  under 

215 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

her  eyes;  she  was  very  handsome, 
though,  in  spite  of  her  disordered  gar- 
ments, and  the  fact  that  her  wonder- 
ful yellow  hair  was  half  falling  down 
her  back. 

"  I'm  all  in  disorder, "  she  said,  put- 
ting her  hand  up  to  her  head.  "  But 
Tommy's  been  so  ill  that  I've  been  up 
night  and  day;  I'm  half  sick  for 
sleep."  She  spoke  in  pretty,  soft 
tones  that  were  yet  oddly  marked  by 
a  decided  Western  accent. 

"  I'll  stay  and  sit  by  Tommy  while 
you  get  some  rest,"  said  Alida,  and 
walked  down  the  hall  to  the  studio. 
She  started  back  on  the  threshold 
almost  involuntarily,  and  then  went 
in. 

Mrs.  Bohm  followed  her.  "Yes," 
she  said,  looking  around  at  the  room, 
that  was  absolutely  bare  of  furniture 
save  for  a  big  easel  on  which  stood  a 

216 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

large  canvas,  and  a  paint  box,  "I've 
had  a  hard  time  this  winter.  I've 
sold  all  my  pretty  things.  I  don't 
mind  your  knowing  it  now.  I  sup- 
pose I  haven't  any  pride  left,  though 
I've  kept  quiet  and  not  answered  your 
knock  lots  of  times  this  winter,  for 
fear  you'd  know." 

The  child  broke  out  again  in  a  wail- 
ing cry,  and  Alida  went  into  the  bed- 
room where  he  lay.  He  was  without 
fever  now,  but  wasted  and  worn,  and 
kept  moaning. 

"Make  him  another  poultice, 
Alida, ' '  said  Mary,  sinking  down  into 
a  chair  beside  the  bed.  "It's  pneu- 
monia, and  there's  nothing  to  do  but 
keep  up  the  poultices.  I'm  so  worn 
out  that  I  forgot  it,  and  the  last  one 
must  be  cold." 

Alida  was  thankful  that  she  had 
had  her  experience  with  nursing  Chloe 

217 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

to  rely  upon.  She  lighted  the  little 
gas  lamp  and  soon  had  the  nice  hot 
poultice,  not  too  hard  or  too  soft, 
according  to  the  best  directions,  all 
ready.  The  child  breathed  easier  when 
she  had  put  it  on  his  chest,  and  closed 
his  eyes  in  comfort  and  satisfaction. 

"  Mary,  keep  your  eyes  open  just  a 
moment,"  she  said  ;  "I  must  go  up- 
stairs for  something." 

She  fled  up  to  her  own  apartment, 
and  unlocking  the  sideboard  found  a 
bottle  of  good  old  port ;  then  she  cut 
some  nice  thin  slices  of  bread  and 
some  cold  duck,  and  in  less  time  than 
it  takes  to  tell  was  back  in  the  bed- 
room again  carrying  a  nicely  arranged 
little  tray. 

"Have  some  port,  Mary,  and  eat 
some  of  those  sandwiches  ;  there's  no 
use  trying  to  take  care  of  Tommy  by 

making  yourself  ill  too." 
218 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Tommy  was  fast  asleep  now,  breath- 
ing hard  and  heavily,  and  the  poor 
tired  woman  gladly  drank  the  wine. 
The  color  began  to  creep  back  into 
her  cheeks,  and  the  sickening  faint 
feeling  left  her. 

"I  was  faint,  I  guess,"  she  said. 
"Alida  Craig,  you've  come  like  an 
angel." 

"  Go  out  in  the  studio  and  lie  down ; 
we  can  put  this  cot  out  there,  and 
then  if  Tommy  wakes  he  won't  disturb 
you.  Come,  I'U  fix  it." 

The  weary  woman  lay  down  on  the 
little  pallet,  and  Alida  sat  beside  her, 
looking  into  the  room  beyond,  where 
the  child  was  asleep.  For  a  little 
while  all  was  quiet,  then  Mrs.  Bohm 
began  to  talk.  The  wine  had  rested 
her  body  and  the  terrible  sleeplessness 
had  left  her.  She  needed  to  talk,  to 
tell  some  one  of  her  sufferings — about 

219 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

the  winter.  "When  her  husband  died 
she  had  come  home  from  Paris,  and 
settled  in  New  York.  She  had  taken 
this  apartment  in  the  Sherburne 
studio  building  because  she  knew  it 
was  one  of  the  best  buildings,  had 
sent  her  pictures  around  to  the  exhibi- 
tions, had  sent  word  about  that  she 
would  give  lessons,  etc.,  and  had 
waited.  If  the  exhibitions  hung  her 
work,  which  they  did  not  always  do, 
her  pictures  never  sold,  and  day  by 
day  she  had  used  up  her  small  capital 
until  now  it  was  almost  gone.  Her 
family  had  written  her  again  and 
again  to  come  out  to  them,  but  she 
still  lingered,  hoping  that  something 
would  yet  turn  up. 

"Where  do  your  family  live?" 
said  Alida,  a  thrill  at  the  thought  of 
going  home  passing  over  her. 

"Washburn,    Indiana,"    bitterly; 
220 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"and  they  don't  know  a  painting 
from  a  chromo.  I'd  rather  die  than 
go  back  there.  You're  the  strangest 
girl,  Alida;  you've  always  been  so 
lucky;  the  way  you  used  to  have 
number  one  in  the  concours  month 
after  month,  and  the  luck  you've  had 
since  you  came  home;  yet  I've  always 
felt  that  you  never  cared  half  so  much 
about  your  work  as  I  did.  Why,  I've 
half  starved  to  stay  here  these  last 
two  months  and  paint  a  picture  for 
the  Society.  It's  almost  done — there 
on  the  easel." 

Alida  did  not  speak;  she  went  into 
the  next  room  and  made  another 
poultice  for  Tommy.  Poor,  pretty 
Mary  Bohm  !  she  remembered  her  at 
Julian's  working  night  and  day,  ab- 
solutely devoured  with  ambition,  yet 
always  failing  miserably. 

"Is  Tommy  all  right?" 
221 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  I'll  go  to  sleep  in  a  moment;  I'm 
beginning  to  be  quite  drowsy.  I 
want  you  to  do  something  forme." 

"Yes." 

"  Light  a  candle — there's  one  on  the 
mantelpiece — and  look  at  the  picture. 
I'd  sleep  easier  if  I  really  had  some 
one's  opinion."  She  sat  up  with 
wide-open  eyes  while  Alida  steadied 
the  flickering  light  to  see  the  canvas. 
It  was  a  madonna  and  child,  more 
poorly  than  badly  painted;  the  color 
was  tinged  with  a  soft,  unpleasant  but- 
teriness,  and  there  was  not  one  line  of 
interest  or  originality  about  it. 

"I  think  it's  the  best  thing  you 
have  done,  but  I  don't  want  to  say 
any  more  until  I  have  seen  it  by  day- 
light," was  all  Alida  could  say  to  the 
anxious,  inquiring  face  awaiting  her 
decision. 

222 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

That  was  enough,  however;  it  was 
treating  the  picture  seriously,  and 
Mary  soon  fell  asleep,  satisfied  that 
the  child  was  doing  well,  and  that 
this  last  picture  would  bring  the  suc- 
cess she  craved. 

"Poor  Mary,"  thought  Alida. 
"Why  did  she  ever  go  away  from 
the  farm  in  Indiana  ?  Why  did  she 
have  the  art  fever  ?  I'm  going  to  see 
if  Bertha  won't  persuade  Philip  to 
establish  a  scholarship  to  send  girls 
home  to  America  who  will  give  up 
studying  art.  It's  the  only  thing  for 
most  of  them  to  do. ' '  It  was  hard 
work  for  Alida  to  keep  awake;  she 
was  not  used  to  watching,  and  the 
room  was  so  still  that  she  nearly 
dropped  off  without  thinking  ;  then 
she  roused  herself  with  a  start  and 
made  the  poultice  again.  She  began 
to  be  afraid  that  she  would  not  be 

223 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

able  to  hold  out  much  longer,  and  she 
thought  she  would  wake  Mary  soon, 
and  run  up  and  call  Chloe.  She 
thought  it  must  be  nearly  morning, 
but  just  then  the  clock  struck  one. 

Rosamond  Wells,  for  such  was  the 
title  that  her  godparents  had  bestowed 
upon  that  plain  and  cheery  damsel, 
was  awakened  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  by  some  one  shaking  her  vio- 
lently. 

"My  watch  is — "  she  began. 
"  Oh,  it's  you,  Alida  Craig.  Is  the 
child  worse — what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"His  mother's  afraid  he's  dying; 
he's  suddenly  taken  worse.  "Would 
you  go  out  with  Chloe  for  the  doctor  ? 
Chloe,  you  know,  can't  find  her  way 
around  New  York  one  bit." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"Fifty-eighth  Street." 

"  Don't  you  mind  about  Chloe,  I'm 

224 


ALIDA    CRAIO 

not  one  bit  afraid  to  go  by  myself; 
only  wake  her  up  and  have  her  go 
down  to  Mrs.  Bohm's.  There's  some 
whiskey  in  that  closet ;  you'd  better 
give  me  a  drop  and  take  some  your- 
self; you're  a  ghost." 

As  she  spoke,  Miss  "Wells  was  drag- 
ging on  her  clothes,  and  it  speaks 
well  for  her  style  of  garments  that 
they  were  as  easily  gotten  into  as  a 
man's;  and  at  half -past  two  in  the 
morning,  with  only  five  minutes  at 
her  disposal,  she  looked  as  neat  and 
trim  as  ever. 

"  You  ought  not  to  go  alone,"  said 
Alida,  distressed.  "  Suppose  some 
one  should  stop  you  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  child ;  at  the  rate  I'll  go 
they'll  think  I  am  an  escaped  lunatic. 
If  they  did  stop  me,  I'd  just  say,  '  I'm 
going  for  the  doctor ;  wait  here  until 

I  come  back  and  I'll  blow  your  head 
235 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

off.'  Good-by,  I'll  be  back  in  ten 
minutes. ' '  And  fastening  on  her  billy- 
cock hat  as  she  went  along,  Miss 
"Wells  sped  away  faster  than  from  her 
girth  one  would  have  deemed  possible. 

The  sick-room  was  now  a  serious 
battle-ground,  where  the  conflict  of  life 
and  death  was  being  fought  out.  The 
doctor  came,  bringing  his  healthy, 
comforting  presence  to  sustain  their 
fainting  hopes.  He  turned  every  one 
out  of  the  room  excepting  Chloe,  and 
the  three  women  sat  in  the  bare 
studio,  looking  at  the  weak  "Ma- 
donna and  Child,"  hour  after  hour, 
until  the  cold  gray  dawn  crept  in  at 
the  great  north  window. 

"I'll  make  some  coffee,"  said 
Alida  at  last,  rising.  But  she  was 
so  stiff  and  tired  that  she  could 
scarcely  move. 

Miss  Wells  sprang  to  her  feet. 

226 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"  I'll  make  it ;  and,  Mrs.  Bohm,  do 
light  a  fire,  it's  perishingly  cold." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  doctor  came 
out  of  the  sick-room. 

"  The  child  is  doing  well  now," 
he  said  gravely.  "  Unless  something 
unforeseen  arises  he  will  get  along 
now.  Thank  you,  Miss  "Wells,"  as  he 
took  the  cup  of  coffee  from  her  hand 
and  seated  himself  beside  the  blazing 
fire.  "This  is  indeed  comfortable 
after  being  up  so  long." 

"You  are  sure  that  Tommy  will 
get  well?  "  said  Mrs.  Bohm. 

"  Yes,  quite  sure  ;  only  when  he  is 
recovered  I  should  advise  a  country 
life.  He's  rather  a  delicate  child.  I 
wouldn't  try  to  bring  him  up  in  the 
city.  Now,  ladies,  good-morning;  go 
to  bed  and  sleep  as  long  as  you  can, 
as  I  am  going  to  do.  I'll  be  around 

in  the  afternoon ;  your  maid  will  stay 
227 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

•with  the  child  until  I  can  send  a 
nurse,  I  believe.  Good-morning. ' ' 

Now  that  the  strain  was  over,  Mrs. 
Bohm  let  Alida  take  her  upstairs,  and 
they  breakfasted  in  strange  pot-luck 
fashion  and  went  to  bed,  excepting 
Miss  Wells,  who  was  due  down-town, 
and  who,  having  taken  a  cold  plunge 
and  put  on  a  fresh  shirt  front  and  col- 
lar, appeared  at  her  work  at  the  usual 
hour  as  immaculate  and  trim  as  ever. 

"  Up  since  three  in  the  morning 
and  I've  never  turned  a  hair,"  was 
her  comment  as  she  locked  her  desk 
when  evening  came,  not  one  second 
earlier  than  usual. 

But  among  all  these  studio  people 
we  must  not  forget  the  other  train  of 
our  story,  and  that  we  have  another 
invalid  who  has  been  getting  better 
while  we  have  been  talking  about 
others.  In  truth,  Madame  Fremiet's 

228 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

illness  was  of  short  duration,  and  in  a 
few  days  she  appeared  again  at  the 
theatre,  to  all  appearances  as  well  as 
ever.  Those,  however,  who  knew  her 
intimately  realized  that  a  great 
change  had  come  over  her.  Mixed 
into  her  Creole  blood  there  was  an 
odd  strain  of  super-nervousness,  call 
it  what  you  will,  that  resulted  in 
a  sixth  sense  amounting  almost  to 
second  sight.  It  was  not  the  ordinary 
presentiment  of  a  nervous  woman — 
no,  only  two  or  three  times  in  her  life 
had  the  veil  of  everyday  events  been 
wiped  away,  and  she  had  seemed  to 
see  into  the  future;  once  just  before 
she  had  taken  the  momentous  step  of 
leaving  her  home  to  go  upon  the 
stage.  Now  she  saw  nothing  clearly ; 
she  only  felt  a  negation  of  all  her 
future  wishes  and  desires.  Even 
when  she  had  recovered  her  health  to 

229 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

all  outward  seeming,  her  mind  was  in 
a  dream,  groping  about  for  some 
vague  clew — the  mystery  of  she  knew 
not  what — which  she  realized  she 
might  stumble  across  at  any  moment. 
Her  lips  were  closed  on  the  subject  of 
her  inward  emotions;  she  could  not 
speak  of  them  even  to  Philip;  her 
manner  toward  him  was  the  same  as 
before,  though  she  absolutely  refused 
to  speak  with  any  decision  of  their 
wedding  day. 

Philip,  seeing  how  agitated  she  be- 
came at  the  pressing  of  his  suit,  spoke 
of  it  no  more.  In  the  languor  that 
had  crept  over  her  in  her  days  of  con- 
valescence, she  seemed  more  charming 
to  him  than  ever.  He  little  realized 
that  she  received  each  token  of  his 
love  and  devotion  with  a  pang  of  sad- 
ness ;  that  firmly  rooted  in  her  mind 
was  the  feeling  that  their  attachment 

230 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

was  almost  over  ;  that  their  seven 
years  of  waiting  was  in  vain,  and  that 
they  would  never  be  man  and  wife. 
The  better  Margaret's  physical  con- 
dition became,  the  more  firmly  rooted 
grew  all  these  ideas.  Her  engagement 
at  the  theatre  was  drawing  to  a  close, 
and  she  still  seemed  no  nearer  the 
realization  of  her  vision  than  be- 
fore. 

The  Duke  of  Axminster  had  not 
returned  to  England,  as  he  had  in- 
tended to  do  on  hearing  of  Margaret's 
engagement  to  Philip  Herford.  As 
soon  as  she  was  well  enough,  Mar- 
garet sent  him  a  little  note,  and  the 
following  morning  he  came  up  to  the 
Plaza.  Their  interview  was  very  try- 
ing, and  required  all  Margaret's  tact ; 
yet  somehow — and  it  was  a  difficult 
thing  to  do,  for  Axminster  was  not 
famous  for  flights  of  the  imagination 

281 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

— she  made  him  understand  just  how 
she  felt. 

"Don't  feel,"  she  said,  "that  I 
am  throwing  Mr.  Herford  over  for 
you,  or  that  I  shall  marry  you  be- 
cause I  do  not  marry  Mr.  Herford.  I 
just  know  that  this  thing  will  be  ; 
that  it  is  my  fate,  and  that  we  must 
all  accept  it.  But  time  must  work 
out  the  problem  as  it  will;  I  cannot 
hurry  it;  I  don't  know  anything." 

The  Duke  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  slowly  ;  it  was  the  intensest  ner- 
vousness that  his  phlegmatic  tempera- 
ment could  show. 

"  It's  all  very  wonderful,"  he  said. 
"  I  don't  understand  it,  and  I  do.  It's 
an  awkward  position  for  me,  but  since 
you  say  Herford  would  gladly  be  re- 
leased, I  do  not  see  that  I  am  harm- 
ing him  in  any  attitude  that  I  take. 
I  am  good  at  waiting,  and  I  might 

232 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

just  as  well  go  up  to  the  Adirondacks 
to  shoot  for  a  little  while  as  go  home 
to  England.  Besides,  it  will  be  easier 
to  get  back  from  there;  all  you  will 
have  to  do  is  to  wire,  '  Come. ' ' 

The  simplicity  of  his  almost  boy- 
ish affection  touched  Margaret,  as  it 
had  done  many  times  before. 

"  Oh,  Duke,"  she  said,  "why  can- 
not I  love  you  in  return  ?  Why  am  I 
giving  myself  to  you  so  coldly?  I 
despise  myself  ;  it  is  sacrificing  you. 
I  ought  not  to  marry  you." 

There  was  a  certain  tightening 
about  his  mouth,  that  those  who  had 
seen  him  in  the  thick  of  battle,  when 
he  was  a  cadet  of  his  house  and  Lieu- 
tenant of  the  9th ,  might  remem- 
ber. 

"  You  don't  know  at  all,"  he  said. 
"I  accepted  it  so  long  ago  that  it's 
more  than  I  ever  hoped  or  dreamed 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

for  that  you  would  be  my  wife  at  all. 
I'nr  happy,  happy — do  you  under- 
stand? I  don't  care  whether  you 
love  me  or  not;  I  don't  want  to 
think  of  it  or  talk  of  it;  I  love  you, 
that's  enough,  that's  all." 

She  was  not  yet  very  strong,  and 
the  talking  had  wearied  her;  her 
beautiful  face  was  pale.  He  longed 
to  take  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carry 
her  away,  his  possession,  captured  by 
right  of  strength  and  devotion.  In- 
stead, he  bent  down,  kissing  her  hand. 

"  Good-by,  my  duchess,"  he  said. 


234 


CHAPTER  XI 

THESE  were  busy  days  for  Alida. 
Tommy  progressed  but  slowly,  and 
all  the  time  that  she  could  spare  was 
devoted  to  amusing  him  and  helping 
to  cheer  up  his  mother.  Mrs.  Bohm 
had  relapsed  into  her  old,  hard,  sullen 
manner  ;  she  relieved  the  nurse  and 
wrote  a  good  many  letters,  but  she 
had  not  touched  paints  and  brushes 
since  the  night  of  the  child's  crisis. 
The  dreary  "Madonna  and  Child" 
still  stared  blankly  from  the  easel, 
unfinished  and  unvarnished,  although 
the  time  was  nearing  when  pictures 
for  the  Society  were  to  be  judged. 
Miss  Wells  had  been,  as  from  the 

235 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

first,  a  well-balanced  guardian  angel. 
She  brought  the  newest  toys  for 
Tommy,  took  no  notice  of  Mrs. 
Bohm's  mood,  and  finally,  like  an 
electric  shock,  started  the  subject  of 
the  "Madonna,"  about  which  the 
poor  woman  was  eating  out  her 
heart. 

"I  suppose  it's  finished  now,"  she 
said  one  evening;  for,  truth  to  tell,  she 
knew  no  more  of  painting  than  a  bat, 
and  had  never  noticed  the  picture 
particularly. 

Mrs.  Bohm  looked  up  from  her 
sewing  and  then  she  began  to  cry,  to 
Miss  "Wells 's  great  distress. 

"It's  never  going  to  be  finished  ; 
I  haven't  worked  on  it  for  a  long 
time,"  she  said  at  last.  "Perhaps 
you  don't  know  how  bad  it  is,  but 
it's  awful.  I  saw  it  just  as  plain  as 
day  the  night  Tommy  was  so  sick. 

286 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

All  my  things  have  been  bad  straight 
from  the  start.  I  used  to  hate  Alida 
when  she  was  in  Julian's,  the  way  she 
got  ahead.  I  wanted  to  succeed  so, 
to  get  ahead  of  every  one,  to  be  ad- 
mired. That  isn't  Art,  and  I  don't 
wonder  I  didn't  do  any  better.  I've 
never  had  the  least  notion  of  the  real 
thing,  like  that  little  creature  upstairs, 
who  lives  in  her  work." 

"  She's  a  good  girl  and  gentle  and 
modest,"  said  Miss  Wells,  for  lack  of 
anything  else  to  say  ;  and  she  listened 
patiently  to  the  poor  woman's  story, 
of  the  petty  jealousies  and  triumphs 
and  excitements  that  she  had  thought 
made  up  an  artist's  life,  never  see- 
ing that  she  was  thinking  of  nothing 
but  herself.  Now,  thank  heaven, 
she  was  wiser,  and  all  her  plans 
were  ready  to  take  Tommy  home  to 

the  old  farm  in  Indiana.     The  tears 
237 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

came  into  her  eyes,  and  perhaps  into 
Miss  "Wells 's  too,  as  she  finished  her 
confession. 

"I've  thought  my  painting  very 
fine,"  she  said,  "but  I  don't  believe 
it's  any  too  good  for  Indiana. 
They're  proud  of  me  out  there,  and  I 
guess,  after  all,  home's  the  best  place 
for  most  women." 

So,  as  soon  as  Tommy  was  able  to 
be  moved,  he  was  taken  down  to  the 
Grand  Central  Station  in  a  carriage, 
with  Alida  and  Miss  Wells  on  the 
front  seat,  and  toys  and  picture-books 
enough  to  last  a  journey  around  the 
world. 

"It  will  seem  lonely  without 
them,"  said  Miss  "Wells,  as  the  train 
moved  out  of  the  station.  "  Though 
I  declare,  for  all  the  tramping  up  and 
down  stairs  and  bearing  with  that 
poor  girl's  temper,  you  look  stronger 

238 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

than  you  did.  You  needn't  worry 
about  her;  she's  taken  off  her  black,  I 
notice,  and  when  a  girl  starts  off  on 
a  journey  with  as  well-fitting  a  gown 
as  that,  it  shows  that  she  is  beginning 
to  pick  up.  Now,  you'd  better  come 
and  lunch  with  me.  If  I've  money 
enough  left  after  buying  that  leaping 
kangaroo  we'll  go  to  Del's.  And 
I've  two  seats  for  the  Lohengrin 
matinee.  I'd  like  you  to  come  with 
me  ever  so  much — that  is,  if  you're 
not  so  musical  that  you  want  a  score. 
I  hate  a  score." 

"  No,"  said  Alida  ;  "  I  don't  know 
one  note  from  another,  but  I  should 
love  to  hear  Lohengrin  again." 

' '  Come  along,  then ;  there's  nothing 
like  the  opera  for  me.  I  go  and  blub- 
ber, and  I  love  it  all  straight  up  from 
the  swan.  As  for  the  dragon  in 
Siegfried,  I'm  devotedly  attached  to 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

it.  Let's  walk  down,  the  sunshine  is 
so  inviting,  and  I  have  my  best  neck- 
tie on,  which  always  makes  me  feel  a 
cut  above  the  Fourth  Avenue  car." 

The  sunshine  was  truly  so  enticing 
that  many  other  people  were  tempted 
out.  Among  them  Margaret  went 
out,  on  a  round  of  shopping.  Coming 
home,  as  she  passed  the  tall  building 
where  Alida  had  her  studio,  it  re- 
minded her  of  her  former  visit  to 
the  little  artist  girl.  Her  illness  com- 
ing so  soon  after  had  driven  all 
thought  of  the  portrait,  and  the  ab- 
surdity of  the  anonymous  letter,  quite 
out  of  her  mind.  She  had  promised 
Miss  Craig  to  sit  for  the  portrait 
when  she  stopped  playing;  now  there 
was  only  a  week  longer  of  her  en- 
gagement at  the  Fifth  Avenue,  and  it 
seemed  a  very  good  opportunity  to 
arrange  for  the  sittings.  No  sooner 

240 


1  ALIDA    CRAIG 

thought  than  done :  she  stopped  the 
carriage  and  went  up  the  long  flights 
of  stone  stairs  that  led  to  Alida's 
apartment.  Margaret  wore,  as  she 
often  did  when  she  went  about  alone, 
a  thick,  dark  veil,  and  all  the  way 
going  upstairs  she  was  struggling  to 
unfasten  its  tangled  ends.  Miss  Craig 
was  not  at  home,  the  old  colored 
woman  said  who  opened  the  door  for 
her;  perhaps  she  would  leave  a  mes- 
sage. Margaret  was  tired  from  mount- 
ing the  stairs,  so  she  said  she  would 
come  in  for  a  moment  and  write  a 
note.  Chloe  went  to  Alida's  desk, 
found  a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  pencil, 
and  while  she  was  getting  them  Mar- 
garet at  last  succeeded  in  unpinning 
the  reluctant  veil;  she  took  off  her 
right  glove  too,  and  sat  down  in  a 
chair  which  happened  to  be  placed 

directly   under  the  broad,   sweeping 
241 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

glare  of  the  skylight.  It  took  Chloe 
some  time  to  find  the  paper,  and  as 
she  turned  around,  murmuring  many 
apologies  for  her  mistress's  absence, 
her  face  became  suddenly  ashen  gray  ; 
the  paper  and  pencil  fell  from  her 
trembling  old  hands. 

"  Lor'  sakes,"  she  murmured,  with 
chattering  teeth.  "  Lor'  sakes,  it's 
Mam'zell  Margaret." 

Margaret  arose  from  her  chair. 
Twenty  years  had  gone  by,  changing 
Chloe  from  a  buxom,  strong  woman 
to  an  old  one  with  bent  figure  and 
white  wool,  but  Madame  Fremiet 
would  have  known  the  voice  any- 
where —  the  voice  of  the  negress 
who  had  been  her  nurse,  who  had 
dressed  her  on  her  wedding  day,  and 
who  had  gone  with  her  to  the  new 
home  ;  the  one  link  that  bound  her  to 

her  happy  childhood  in  the  stormy 
242 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

years  of  her  life  with  Monsieur  Bon- 
aventure. 

"  Chloe,  Chloe,  my  dear,  dear 
Chloe! "  she  cried,  enthusiastically 
clasping  the  old  woman. 

For  a  few  moments  they  clung  to 
each  other,  murmuring  an  unintelli- 
gible babble  of  patois,  words  long  for- 
gotten. Baby  phrases  that  Chloe  had 
taught  her  rushed  upon  Margaret's 
lips ;  the  old  negress  sobbed  with  joy. 
Madame  Fremiet  at  last  released 
Chloe's  clinging  hands  and  sat  down 
again  in  the  chair. 

"How  beautiful  you  is!"  mur- 
mured the  old  woman,  feasting  her 
eyes  on  her  nursling.  "  You  isn't  a 
day  older  than  you  was,  'pears  to  me. 
There  weren't  never  no  one  as  pretty 
as  you.  Old  Chloe  never  thought  her 
old  eyes  would  see  you  again." 

The  genuine  love  that  shone  in  her 
248 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

faded  orbs  brought  tears  to  Mar- 
garet's bright  ones.  She  asked  the 
old  woman  about  her  life,  and  what 
she  had  been  doing  all  these  years, 
wondering  how  she  happened  to  be  in 
service  with  Miss  Craig. 

"Won't  you  come  back  again  and 
be  my  maid  ?  "  she  said  ;  "  you  know 
you  really  belong  to  me."  She  was 
surprised  that  Chloe  looked  grave, 
almost  pained,  for  a  moment. 

"I  can't  leave  Miss  'Lida,"  she 
said.  "I  b'longed  to  you  sure  'nuff, 
Mam'zell,  but  I  can't  leave  Miss'  Lida; 
she  belongs  to  me,  I've  had  her  ever 
since  she  was  born." 

"Ever  since  she  was  born  !  "  re- 
peated Margaret.  The  words  died  on 
her  lips,  and  to  hide  her  confusion 
she  broke  out  in  a  torrent  of  ques- 
tions. 

"When  had  Chloe  left  New  Orleans  ? 

244 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

What  had  she  done  all  the  time? 
"When  had  she  met  Miss  Craig  ?  She 
asked  everything  excepting  the  ques- 
tion that  was  nearest  her  heart.  So 
this  was  Chloe,  old  and  wrinkled,  the 
Chloe  she  had  seen  last  sitting  in  the 
big,  low  nursery  at  Los  Portos.  How 
many  nights  since  then  the  picture 
had  come  back  to  her,  and  she  had 
wakened  from  troubled  dreams  of  the 
little  toddling  white  baby  on  Chloe's 
knee,  who  had  crowed  and  laughed 
and  clutched  at  the  diamonds  on  her 
neck  when  she  had  gone  in  to  say  good- 
night, decked  out  in  all  her  jewels 
and  finery  to  receive  her  guests  on 
what  proved  to  be  her  last  night 
under  her  husband's  roof.  "  Chloe, 
do  you  remember  my  last  night  at 
home?  "  she  said. 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Chloe  gravely.     There 
was  a  ring  of  reproach  in  the  old 

245 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

woman's  words  that  stung  Margaret ; 
she  arose,  pacing  the  room  in  excite- 
ment; she  tried  to  explain  and  excuse 
her  departure,  but  before  the  simple 
black  servant  her  motives  appeared 
inadequate. 

"Chloe,"  she  said,  "you  know 
how  miserable  my  marriage  was  ;  I 
was  so  excited  and  happy  with  my 
success  in  the  play  that  night,  that  I 
fairly  forgot  how  terrible  Monsieur 
Bonaventure  could  be,  and  I  went  to 
him,  radiant  with  success,  thinking  he 
would  sympathize  with  me  and  let  me 
go  on  the  stage.  He  was  terrible, 
and  we  had  a  most  fearful  quarrel; 
we  had  had  so  many  quarrels  and  had 
said  so  many  bitter  things  that  I 
suppose  he  thought  he  could  say  any- 
thing he  liked,  but  he  went  a  little  too 
far  that  night,  and  I  was  so  angry  that 
I  walked  straight  out  of  the  house." 

246 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Chloe  knelt  down  beside  Margaret 
and  patted  one  of  her  hands  as  she 
would  have  done  a  baby's.  She  was 
a  very  ignorant  old  woman,  who  had 
been  taught  a  certain  sense  of  right 
and  wrong.  She  had  been  abroad  and 
travelled  with  Alida,  but  her  New 
Orleans  patois  had  never  changed 
into  good  Parisian  French,  and  she 
still  spoke  very  Southern  English. 
For  twenty  years  she  had  nursed  a 
perfectly  just  resentment  against 
Margaret  for  deserting  her  child,  but 
now  that  she  saw  again  her  beloved 
mistress,  her  old  love  got  the  better  of 
her  convictions.  That's  what  these 
good  black  creatures  are  made  for  ; 
they  are  all  heart  and  warm  affection. 
She  didn't  exactly  comprehend  why 
Margaret  should  choose  to  desert  her 
baby,  but  then,  since  she  had  chosen, 

why  shouldn't  she  ? 

247 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"There,  there,"  said  the  old 
woman,  patting  her  hand,  "did  you 
ever  think  your  baby  would  be  a 
woman  grown  now  if  she  had  lived  ?  " 

"  If  she  had  lived  !  Chloe,  did  she 
live  ?  Do  you  know  anything  of  her  ? 
I've  never  heard  a  word  of  my  old 
home  since  that  night.  At  first  my 
thoughts  were  full  of  my  studies  and 
my  successes,  but  lately  I've  not  been 
well,  and  it's  all  come  back  to  me 
— fancies  that  I  would  like  to  see  the 
old  place  again,  to  see  you  and  to 
hear  of  my  daughter.  Perhaps  I 
could  tell  her,  and  she  could  under- 
stand, that  I  was  unhappy  and  re- 
pressed at  home,  that  I  was  born  for 
the  stage  and  could  no  more  help 
going  than  the  birds  from  flying. 
Perhaps  she  would  forgive  me,  and 
even  be  proud  of  me." 

"Did  you  never  hear  from  Massa 

248 


ALIDA   CRAIG 

all  this  time?  "  said  Chloe  in  amaze- 
ment. "Certainly  he  was  a  hard 
man." 

"Hard  and  unforgiving.  But  he 
is  dead;  he  sent  me  a  message  from 
his  death- bed,  thanking  me  for 
never  having  played  in  New  Or- 
leans." 

"So  he's  dead,"  said  Chloe.  She 
had  always  hated  her  old  master,  and 
her  judgment  upon  him  was  propor- 
tionately severe.  "So  he's  dead.  He 
was  a  hard  man  ;  he  turned  me  out  of 
doors  with  the  baby,  Mam'zell,  the 
day  after  you  went  away  ;  he  was  like 
the  devil  himself.  I  thought  he'd 
kill  me  and  the  child,  and  they  said 
he  burnt  up  every  scrap  of  your 
dresses  and  things  that  you  left.  He 
gave  me  a  little  bit  of  money  every 
year  to  take  care  of  the  child,  but  he 
swore  me  never  to  tell  her  who  she 

249 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

was  ;  he  even  made  me  give  her  an- 
other name." 

Margaret's  eyes  met  the  old  wo- 
man's ;  she  looked  at  her  firmly  for  a 
moment,  then  she  put  out  her  hand, 
steadying  herself  against  the  arm  of  a 
chair. 

"My  baby's  name  was  Margaret, 
like  mine." 

"I  called  her  Alida,"  said  Chloe 
huskily. 

Her  words  reached  Margaret 
faintly. 

"  Alida  !  Alida  !  "  she  cried.  The 
terrible  pain  at  her  heart  was  grip- 
ping her  with  exhausting  agony  ;  a 
feeling  of  suffocation  arose  in  her 
throat,  and  she  fainted  in  Chloe's 
arms.  Chloe  was  too  good  a  nurse  to 
be  frightened  ;  she  chafed  the  poor 
cold  hands  and  poured  brandy  be- 
tween the  clenched  teeth,  working 

250 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

over  her  with  untiring  zeal.  At  last 
the  color  crept  back  into  Margaret's 
face;  she  opened  her  eyes.  "  Tell  me 
all  about  her, ' '  she  said. 

And  Chloe  told  her  all  about 
Alida  :  tales  of  her  childhood  that 
went  to  the  poor  mother's  heart — poor 
Margaret,  who  had  never  seemed  to 
have  a  mother's  heart  until  now.  She 
listened  enraptured  as  Chloe  told  how, 
from  a  baby,  Alida  was  always  draw- 
ing pictures,  and  how  when  she  was 
only  twelve  years  old  she  had  painted 
some  Christmas  cards  for  a  little 
book-shop,  and  how,  when  Chloe  and 
Alida  had  gone  to  get  the  money  for 
them,  the  kindly  shopkeeper,  amazed 
at  the  diminutive  artist,  had  told  her 
that  she  should  study  in  an  art  school. 
Then  the  little  maiden  had  studied 
up  the  question  of  art  schools  until 
kindly  fate  had  led  her  footsteps  to 

251 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

the  Art  Students'  League.  Chloe  told, 
too,  of  their  going  abroad,  and  of  her 
having  pneumonia  and  how  Alida 
nursed  her ;  besides  many  other  things 
which  were  like  a  strange  story  to 
Margaret's  ears. 

As  I  have  said,  Chloe  was  ignorant, 
so  ignorant  as  to  be  absolutely  honest. 
"When  Monsieur  Bonaventure  had 
made  her  swear  never  to  tell  Alida 
her  real  name,  Chloe  had  never 
thought  of  disobeying  his  injunc- 
tions. She  thought  of  him  as  so 
nearly  one  remove  from  a  demon 
that  she  believed  if  she  broke  her 
word  he  would  surely  fulfil  his 
threat  of  no  longer  sending  the 
thousand  dollars  a  year  for  his 
daughter's  support.  Perhaps  the 
bitterest  drop  in  Margaret's  cup  was 
that,  while  she  had  had  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  dollars,  jewels,  rich 

252 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

dresses,  every  luxury,  her  child  had 
grown  up  half  fed,  half  clothed,  on  a 
miserable  pittance,  eked  out  by  what 
her  nimble  fingers  and  clever  brain 
could  supply — grown  up  as  the  lilies 
grow — to  be  a  lily  in  the  midst  of 
common  weeds  ;  to  catch  her  educa- 
tion somehow,  and  to  be  indebted, 
save  for  the  breath  she  drew,  to  no 
one  but  her  own  good  impulses,  and 
one  old,  loving  servant. 

But  Chloe,  having  told  all  the  de- 
tails of  her  nursling's  life,  was  not 
yet  done;  in  the  old  woman's  slow 
brain  there  had  stuck  fast  one  fact : 
the  coming  and  strange  departure  of 
Alida's  one  lover  ;  and  she  poured  out 
all  her  hopes  and  fears  for  Alida's 
marrying  Mr.  Herford.  Margaret 
listened  as  in  a  dream  as  Chloe  re- 
counted his  daily  visits,  and  his  good- 
ness, and  how  he  had  suddenly  ceased 
253 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

coming,  and  that  she  could  see  under 
all  Alida's  singing  and  working  that 
something  was  wrong. 

"I  am  judged,"  thought  Mar- 
garet. She  felt  that  her  presentiment 
had  come  to  be  fulfilled ;  she  did  not 
know  what  she  should  do;  the  com- 
plication was  too  terrible  to  be 
thought  out  quickly. 

"Chloe,"  she  said,  rising,  "you 
have  kept  your  promise  to  Monsieur 
Bonaventure  very  faithfully.  I  want 
you  to  keep  a  promise  to  me.  You 
must  never,  never  let  Alida  know 
that  I  am  her  mother." 

But  Chloe  could  not  understand.  It 
was  the  dream  of  her  life  to  see  her 
two  charges  together  ;  she  begged 
Margaret  to  let  her  tell  Alida  at  once ; 
but  Margaret  was  so  earnest  that  the 
faithful  old  woman  promised  at  last. 

"And  you  so  sick,  too,  Mam'zell," 

254 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

was  her  only  reproach.  "  She'd  be 
such  a  comfort  to  you."  But  Mar- 
garet only  kissed  her  and  turned 
away,  her  face  growing  very  white, 
and  there  was  a  queer  dim  smile  hang- 
ing around  her  lips  as  she  went  down- 
stairs from  Alida's  studio.  Her 
dress,  sweeping  the  floor,  seemed  to 
be  whispering  good-by  to  the  little 
daughter  she  had  seen  but  once. 

For  days  Margaret  could  come  to 
no  solution  of  her  difficult  position. 
On  one  point  alone  she  was  decided. 
She  had  abandoned  her  baby,  and  left 
her  unloved  and  uncared  for  during 
all  the  years  of  her  young,  tender  life ; 
for  that  there  was  no  reparation,  and, 
she  felt,  no  forgiveness.  But  in  the 
future  Alida  must  be  happy ;  the  child 
must  marry  Philip.  Yet  even  in  the 
thought  lay  subtle  difficulties  that 

baffled    her    penetration.      Margaret 
255 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

longed  for  her  daughter ;  she  did  not 
feel  herself  capable  of  carrying  out 
her  first  intention,  which  she  had  told 
Chloe,  of  never  disclosing  her  identity 
to  Alida  ;  for  Margaret  was  a  strict 
Catholic,  and  the  church  requires  of 
its  daughters  an  accounting  of  their 
children  and  their  children's  children. 
She  spent  many  hours  at  herprie  Dieu 
looking  for  light  and  strength,  and 
yet  her  duty  was  such  a  divided  one 
that  she  could  come  to  no  decision. 
It  would  be  a  shock  to  any  girl  to  dis- 
cover that  her  husband  had  formerly 
been  affianced  to  her  mother,  and  to  a 
girl  as  delicate  and  poetic  as  Alida 
the  idea  would  be  ghastly  and  hor- 
rible. These  circumstances  turned 
themselves  over  and  over  in  the  poor 
mother's  brain,  and  she  might  have 
put  herself  at  last  in  the  hands  of  her 
amiable  father  confessor — in  which 

256 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

case  this  story  might  have  had  a 
somewhat  entangled  ending — had  she 
not  received  an  opportune  visit  from 
her  lawyer,  Mr.  Barlow. 

Mr.  Barlow's  errand  was  one  from 
which  he  shrank,  and  which  he  felt 
required  the  utmost  delicacy.  In  set- 
tling Monsieur  Bonaventure's  estate, 
which  had  been  left  to  the  Jesuit 
Monastery  just  outside  of  New  Or- 
leans, he  had  come  across  the  records 
of  a  daughter  born  to  Margaret  and 
Charles  Antoine  Gabrille  Bonaven- 
ture,  but  beyond  that  there  was  no 
mention  of  the  child's  death,  nor  any 
trace  in  Monsieur  Bonaventure's 
effects  of  her  existence.  Mr.  Bar- 
low's legal  mind  refused  to  accept  as 
dead  any  one  whose  burial  certificate 
was  not  registered  ;  and  at  the  risk 
of  stirring  up  sad,  long-buried  memo- 
ries in  Madame  Fremiet's  heart,  he 

257 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

had  felt  obliged  to  come  and  ask  her 
to  clear  up  the  mystery,  which,  if  from 
no  other  point  of  view,  affected  the 
titles  and  estates  of  Monsieur  Bona- 
venture's  princely  gift  to  the  monas- 
tery. The  kindness  of  Mr.  Barlow's 
tone,  the  absolute  fineness  of  his  feel- 
ing for  her,  and  the  gravity  of  his 
face,  as  he  told  her  very  simply  the 
object  of  his  visit,  soothed  Margaret's 
aching  heart  into  a  clear  knowledge 
that  she  must  act  now,  once  and  for- 
ever. 

"  The  fathers,  what  do  they  say  ?  " 
she  said  inquiringly. 

"  That  the  child  is  dead.  Monsieur 
Bonaventure  told  them  so  on  his 
death-bed;  her  existence  would  in- 
validate their  bequest. ' ' 

Margaret  rose,  walked  wearily  up 
and  down  the  room  once  or  twice, 
then  seated  herself  again  opposite  Mr. 

258 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Barlow,  with  the  clear  light  from  a 
window  falling  full  on  her  face. 

"Mr.  Barlow,"  she  said,  "  there  is 
no  record  of  the  child's  death — that  I 
know — and  yet  she  is  dead.  If  the 
fathers  are  content  with  their  posses- 
sion, very  well ;  strengthen  them  in 
the  belief  that  the  child  died  shortly 
after  I  left  New  Orleans.  I  am  will- 
ing, if  necessary,  to  add  to  the  legacy 
if  it  will  aid  in  keeping  the  very  sad 
events  of  my  early  life  undisturbed  in 
their  oblivion." 

Her  tone  was  so  grave  and  full  of 
sorrow  that  once  more  Mr.  Barlow 
was  touched  by  her  simple  womanly 
dignity.  He  rose  to  go,  feeling  that 
before  the  wounded  heart  of  a  be- 
reaved mother  there  was  little  place 
for  the  law  of  codes  and  courts. 


259 


CHAPTER  XII 

MARGARET'S  mind  was  made  up:  the 
church  had  its  due  in  the  rich  estate 
of  Monsieur  Bonaventure  ;  her  one 
duty  now  was  to  make  Alida  happy. 
She  spent  the  night  thinking  and 
planning,  for  she  had  decided  that 
not  only  must  Philip  leave  her,  but  he 
must  leave  her  without  a  pang.  She 
was  too  great,  if  the  sacrifice  must  be 
made,  not  to  make  it  utter  and  com- 
plete. She  would  have  no  sentiment- 
al parting  with  her  lover.  She  lay 
awake  that  night  trying  to  think 
what  was  the  surest  way  of  making 
the  break  between  them  final.  Evi- 
dently the  night  brought  a  solution 

260 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

of  her  difficulties,  for  she  slept 
toward  morning,  and  when  she 
arose  the  weight  of  care  was  gone  ; 
she  looked  better  than  for  many 
weeks,  and  Barnes  noticed  that  she 
displayed  a  wonderful  interest  in  her 
toilet. 

When  Philip  came  to  pay  his  daily 
visit,  he  was  delighted  at  her  evident 
improvement  in  health  and  spirits. 
He  had  been  much  troubled  by  her 
depression  and  unhappiness,  and  by  a 
feeling  that  she  was  shutting  herself 
away  from  him;  now  she  was  again 
her  old  self.  She  wore  a  long,  flow- 
ing gown,  of  burnished-copper  color, 
that  showed  glimpses  of  her  white 
arms  and  neck,  and  a  bit  of  copper- 
colored  ribbon  in  her  dark  locks 
added  a  touch  of  coquetry  to  her  ap- 
pearance. Margaret  had  thought  out 
her  plan  deeply  and  well.  She  was  a 

261 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

woman,  therefore  more  or  less  able 
to  conceal  or  control  her  feelings ;  and 
beyond  that,  she  was  a  great  actress, 
and  in  entering  the  room  she  had 
taken  up  a  role  which  she  intended  to 
play  through.  Now  that  the  struggle 
of  her  decision  was  over,  she  felt 
perfectly  calm;  quite  as  she  would 
have  felt  at  playing  a  new  part.  As 
Philip  watched  the  charm  of  her 
languorous  beauty,  and  thought  her 
every  movement  exquisitely  graceful 
and  unstudied,  Margaret  was  bring- 
ing every  inch  of  her  artistic  training 
to  keep  within  the  lines  that  she  had 
laid  down  for  herself. 

Mr.  Howells  has  cleverly  stated  the 
axiom  that  no  man  can  be  in  love 
with  more  than  two  women  at  once. 
I  don't  know  whether  or  not  he  goes 
on  to  state  that  those  women  must 
appeal  to  very  different  sides  of  the 

262 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

man's  nature,  and  that,  as  in  this 
instance,  there  is  never  the  slightest 
doubt  of  which  is  the  overwhelming 
passion.  Philip  would  have  been 
something  more  than  human  if  he  had 
not  felt  the  delicious  charm,  half  co- 
quetry, half  regalness,  which  blended 
in  Margaret's  manner.  She  was  more 
at  ease  with  him  than  for  many  a 
long  day,  and  chatted  away  with  the 
abandon  of  a  happy  child.  The  scin- 
tillating brilliancy  of  her  dark  eyes 
shone  with  a  soft,  alluring  light,  and 
when  she  laughed  it  was  with  the  gay, 
happy  ring  of  one  who  is  content  and 
at  peace.  She  was  herself,  her  best, 
richest,  most  captivating  self,  exert- 
ing carelessly  and  idly  the  strong 
magnetic  influence  that  had  made 
whole  theatres  of  people  acknowledge 
her  magic,  before  which  princes  and 
people  bowed  alike.  She  was  as 

263 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

beautiful  as  in  the  first  days  when 
Philip  had  come  on  his  wooing. 

"You  seem  in  a  melting  mood  to- 
day, Margaret,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  You've  only  three  more  nights  to 
play,  and  yet  we  seem  as  far  from 
our  wedding  day  as  ever.  I  would 
not  have  thought  you  would  be  so 
coquettish ;  tell  me  when  you  will  be 
mine?" 

Margaret  leaned  back,  and  looking 
at  him  with  dreamy,  half -closed  eyes, 
she  smiled  a  delicious,  mischievous 
smile. 

"Never  !  "  she  said. 

Philip  thought  it  was  some  jest, 
and  yet  there  was  a  ring  in  her  voice 
that  was  very  far  from  joking. 

"Margaret,  what  do  you  mean?" 
he  said. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,  Philip.  We 
have  been  such  ideal  lovers,  why 

264 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

marry  and  have  all  the  romance  taken 
away  ?  I  really  don't  mean  to  marry 
you  ;  I'm  in  earnest.  In  fact  " — she 
arose  and  stood  looking  at  him  with 
grave  dignity — "I  don't  think  you 
have  cared  for  me  much  lately.  You 
know  things  travel  so  easily  ;  I've 
heard  all  about  Miss  Craig  and  your 
devotion  to  her.  Ah,  Philip,"  she 
said  mockingly,  "you  always  had 
such  good  taste  in  the  fine  arts  ;  hav- 
ing wearied  of  the  footlights,  have 
you  found  fresh  charms  in  the  palette 
and  brushes?  " 

Philip's  position  was  a  terrible  one. 
A  weaker  man  would  have  defended 

the  position,  have  explained,  and . 

Philip  said  nothing  for  a  few  seconds, 
then  he  spoke  very  quietly. 

"Margaret,  this  is  unworthy  of 
you.  It's  not  like  you  to  be  jealous; 
you  are  my  affianced  wife;  you  have 

265 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

had  all  my  love  and  devotion  for 
years;  why  should  you  be  jealous?  " 

"  One  often  doesn't  possess  qual- 
ities until  occasion  develops  them." 
Flippantly:  "I  have  never  had  any 
cause  to  be  jealous  until  now." 

"  Trust  me  now,  dear." 

Philip  went  toward  her,  intending 
to  solve  the  difficulty  of  the  position 
by  an  embrace,  but  she  moved  a  little 
away  ;  then  she  seemed  to  have  a 
quick  repentance,  and  leaned  against 
his  shoulder,  slipping  her  soft  hand 
into  his. 

"Philip,  do  you  really  love  me? 
Tell  me  so  once  more,  won't  you?" 
she  murmured. 

Philip  raised  her  hand  and  kissed 
it. 

"  I  love  you,  Margaret,"  he  said. 

For  a  moment  they  were  silent  and 
stood  together,  Margaret  quite  car- 

266 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

ried  outside  of  her  part  by  the  warm 
pressure  of  his  kiss ;  then  she  snatched 
her  hand  away,  and  looking  up  into 
his  face  mischievously,  said  : 

"  Well,  I  don't  love  you  ;  I'm  tired 
of  you.  I  didn't  know  how  tired  until 
it  came  to  my  taking  the  irrevocable 
step  of  marrying  you."  It  sounded 
simply  vulgar  as  she  said  it,  and  she 
threw  into  her  face  an  expression  of 
vulgarity.  For  the  first  time  it  struck 
Philip  that  her  large  features  were 
handsome  to  coarseness,  and  that  her 
figure  was  voluptuous  and  sensuous. 
Margaret  went  on,  speaking  hurried- 
ly :  "  It  is  better  to  hurt  your  vanity 
and  mine  than  to  go  on  and  find  that 
we  have  made  a  terrible  mistake  ; 
you  know  that  we  all  have  two  sides 
to  our  natures.  I  don't  think  that 
you  have  ever  quite  realized  the  other 
side  of  mine.  You  have  appealed  to 

267 


ALILA    CRAIG 

what  is  best  in  me,  fostered  it, 
brought  it  out  ;  but  the  other  side  is 
there,  and  lately  it  has  come  upper- 
most. I  love  power  and  fame  and 
glory ;  and  just  as  years  ago  I  walked 
out  of  my  home  without  a  pang,  and 
left  it  to  go  on  the  stage,  so,  now  that 
my  stage  life  must  come  to  an  end,  I 
cannot  settle  down  to  the  dull  round 
that  you  call  society  in  JS"ew  York  ;  I 
must  have  more  power  and  position 
than  you  can  give  me.  I  can  leave  you 
as  easily  as  I  took  that  other  step,  to 
have  what  I  most  desire  in  my  new 
life.  Love  you  !  " — there  was  a  ring 
of  scorn  in  her  voice — ' '  I  love  you  ! — 
I  love  myself.  I  think  it  is  better  to 
have  a  real  coronet  of  strawberry 
leaves  than  a  crown  of  withered  senti- 
ments. Will  you  be  the  first  to  con- 
gratulate the  future  Duchess  of  Ax- 
minster?  " 

268 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

Philip's  quietness  surprised  even 
himself.  He  had  noticed  lately  a 
hardness  in  Margaret  that  was  new  to 
his  knowledge  of  her.  Had  it  all  then 
been  merely  a  preparation  for  this 
extraordinary  revelation  of  her  char- 
acter ?  She  had  always  been  moody 
and  variable,  changing  as  a  chame- 
leon from  one  point  of  view  to  an- 
other. Had  it  not  been  for  the  in- 
tensity of  her  passionate  utterance,  he 
could  scarcely  have  thought  her  in 
earnest. 

"  Margaret,  my  dear,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  I  do  not  think  you  quite 
mean  that  being  my  wife  wouldn't 
somewhat  palliate  the  dulness  of 
New  York  society.  I  don't  know 
exactly  what  you  mean,  except  that 
you  have  taken  some  jealous  freak 
about  Miss  Craig.  As  you  say,  my 
dear,  we  all  have  two  sides  to  our 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

natures,  and  I  can  scarcely  think  that 
one  so  generous-hearted  as  yourself 
would  think  it  the  worst  side  of  mine 
that  I  befriended  a  little,  helpless, 
hard-working  girl,  whose  chief  attrac- 
tion, when  I  first  met  her,  was  that 
she  reminded  me  vaguely  of  you." 

"We  may  talk  all  day,  Philip," 
said  Margaret,  folding  her  large 
arms  over  her  bosom  to  hide  the  wild 
beating  of  her  heart,  "but  it  cannot 
change  the  fact  that  I  am  tired  of 
you,  and  that,  to  tell  the  truth,  you 
are  tired  of  me.  As  long  as  I  thought 
you  adored  me,  I  fancied  myself  indis- 
pensable ;  you  see  even  in  me  there 
remains  a  vestige  of  the  eternally 
feminine  unnecessary  sacrifice.  "When 
I  heard  of  your  devotion  to  Miss 
Craig  I  saw  clearly  that  I  had  worn 
out  my  charmingly  aesthetic  but  hard- 
ly human  passion  for  you.  Do  you 
270 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

think  that  my  heart,  which  has  beat  to 
the  admiration  of  thousands,  would  be 
content  with  the  perfunctory  atten- 
tions of  a  husband  who  had  wearied 
of  me  as  a  lover?"  She  sat  down 
wearily  in  a  chair.  "  Go  and  marry 
your  little  artist  and  live  in  Arcadia, 
and  I  will  go  and  be  a  duchess" — 
with  a  graceful  wave  of  her  hand,  as 
though  the  subject  was  dismissed. 

That  was  the  one  point  in  the  ques- 
tion that  Philip  could  not  understand; 
she  certainly  would  not  go  to  the 
length  of  saying  that  she  was  going 
to  marry  Axminster  unless  she  was  in 
earnest. 

"  Margaret,  you  have  never  been 
heartless  ;  if  you  have  decided  that  you 
do  not  love  me,  and  that  you  do  love 
Axminster,  say  so  ;  let  us  part,  if  we 
must,  in  kindness  and  respect." 

It  was  the  crowning  touch  of  her 

271 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

sacrifice.  Her  nerves  were  like  fine 
steel,  tense  and  strong.  She  stood 
silent,  fluctuating  emotions  chasing 
over  her  face,  that  would  have  told 
Philip  even  better  than  words  that  her 
heart  was  no  longer  his.  He  felt 
what  she  wanted  to  tell  him,  even 
before,  with  a  little  gesture  of  shame 
for  her  weakness,  she  came  toward 
him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
looking  into  his  eyes  with  her  beauti- 
ful ones,  that  seemed  full  of  humilia- 
tion at  her  confession. 

"  I  do  love  Axminster,  Philip  ;  I 
was  glad  when  I  heard  that  you  had 
grown  attached  to  Miss  Craig.  We 
have  lived  in  a  dream  of  a  vague  poetic 
fancy,  but  that  is  not  the  way  I  love 
Axminster."  And  a  tender  and 
beautiful  smile  fluttered  around  her 
lips  as  she  spoke. 

So     it    was    dead — their    passion  ; 

272 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

dead  ;  never  to  be  revived.  The  bare 
branches  leaf  out  again  in  the  spring ; 
but  a  worn-out  passion — nothing  can 
revive  it. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  happy,  dear," 
he  said,  and  for  the  last  time  he  bent 
and  kissed  her  hand.  "Good-by." 

Margaret  remained  motionless, 
standing  where  he  had  left  her,  kiss- 
ing the  cold  hand  that  his  lips  had 
pressed.  "  I  shall  never  act  so  well 
again,"  she  thought. 


278 


CHAPTER  XIII 

To  all  readers  who  object  to  the 
chapters  regarding  Alida,  beginning 
with  the  fact  that  she  was  at  work, 
I  would  like  to  say  that  they  show 
great  ignorance  concerning  the  ways 
of  artist  folk,  for  what  should  a  self- 
respecting  artist  be  doing  save  paint- 
ing as  long  as  the  daylight  lasts  ?  It 
is  true  that  an  artist's  time  is  his  own, 
and  that  when  the  mood  strikes  him 
he  will  lie  fallow  for  long  days  ;  but 
especially  in  the  winter,  with  exhibi- 
tions coming  on  and  orders  dropping 
in,  their  hours  are  pretty  regular,  and 
"  No  admittance  before  four  o'clock  " 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

minds  for  sociability  or  any  kind  of  in- 
terruption. After  all,  is  not  an  artist's 
life  a  pleasant  one  ?  is  it  not  a  true  life 
to  be  able  to  indulge  one's  fancies  and 
paint  one's  pictures  all  day  long? 
Even  the  illustrating  and  stained-glass 
windows  bring  lots  of  fun.  There  is 
a  pride  and  power  of  doing  and  see- 
ing the  thing  grow.  Blessed  be  these 
means  of  bread-winning,  and  the 
papers  and  cheap  magazines  which 
give  young  authors  and  artists  a 
chance  to  cut  their  teeth  and  live. 

I  once  heard  a  weak,  artistically  in- 
clined lady  promulgate  a  theory  that 
all  artists  should  be  supported  by  the 
state.  Save  the  mark  !  What  did  she 
know  of  the  enthusiasms  inspired  by 
an  earning  money  to  pay  a  gas  bill, 
of  cartoons  finished  to  pay  the  rent, 
of  verses  written  to  stay  the  clamors 

of  the  coal  man,  of  the  flush  of  joy 
275 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

over  a  big,  big  check  ?  If  our  enthusi- 
asms, our  ideals,  are  so  slight  that  the 
breath  of  the  world  dissipates  them, 
let  them  go;  it  is  only  an  amateur's 
mood  that  must  be  coddled  carefully  ; 
the  true  artist  is  the  journeyman 
carving  the  gargoyles  and  pinnacles 
of  the  cathedral  into  beauty  ;  nothing 
is  too  small  for  his  hand.  Lay  com- 
fort to  yourselves,  ye  who  make  your 
daily  bread  out  of  your  studies  of  the 
beautiful ;  did  not  Thackeray  write 
his  lines,  "At  the  Church  Porch," 
for  a  lady's  annual? 

Alida,  then,  had  been  working  all 
day,  and  was  tired,  as  she  was  every 
day  ;  she  had  scraped  up  her  palette 
and  put  her  things  away,  but  her  eyes 
and  thoughts  were  still  full  of  her  pic- 
ture. "  How  Lisa  Loved  the  King  " 
was  finished  ;  the  name  and  the  date 
were  signed  in  the  corner;  on  the 

276 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

morrow  the  carters  "would  take  it 
away  to  be  judged  by  the  jury  of  the 
Society  of  American  Artists.  Then 
would  come  the  supreme,  the  palpi- 
tating week  before  she  knew  if  it  was 
accepted,  or  if  it  was  in  the  doubtful 
list,  and  might  possibly  be  hung,  if 
there  was  room.  Several  of  the  men 
who  had  studios  in  the  building  were 
on  the  jury,  and  she  knew  they  would 
come  and  tell  her  the  picture's  fate 
as  soon  as  it  was  decided.  "When 
her  door-bell  rang  she  thought  it  was 
Dorothy,  and  called  out  gayly  from 
the  chair  where  she  sat  behind  the  big 
canvas  : 

"  Come,  Dorothy,  and  see  the  pic- 
ture ;  it's  signed  and  finished." 

There  was  a  man's  quick  step  on 
the  floor ;  Chloe  had  gone  away 
quietly;  Alida  rose,  her  face  flushed 
with  surprise  to  see  Philip.  She 

277 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

thought  something  terrible  must  have 
happened  'to  Mrs.  Beckington  or 
Dorothy. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Why  did 
you  come?  " 

Come  !  The  sight  of  the  familiar 
studio,  the  pictures,  Alida's  smooth 
palette  with  the  dirty  brushes  sticking 
through  it,  brought  a  lump  into 
Philip's  throat  ;  he  scarcely  dared 
look  at  her  ;  everything  was  swept 
away  ;  it  seemed  as  though  he  had 
never  been  separated  from  her.  Why 
explain,  why  talk  !  She  was  there. 

"  I — I  came  for  some  tea.  What  a 
glorious  picture ;  are  you  going  to  send 
it  to  the  Society?"  He  could  look 
at  her  now  ;  he  saw  surprise  and 
almost  fear  written  on  her  face.  A 
light  seemed  to  break  through  his 
brain  ;  he  knelt  down  beside  her  chair 
and  took  her  hands  ;  there  was  a  curi- 

278 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

ous  break  in  his  voice  as  he  said  : 
"I've  come  to  tell  you  that  I  am  free 
to  marry  you,  Alida." 

This  book  is  full  of  love-making. 
Love-making  is  so  easy  to  imagine  up 
to  a  certain  point.  I  can  tell  you 
what  Jones  said  to  Miss  Smith  ;  what 
Jack  said  to  Jill ;  but  I  cannot  tell 
you  what  Philip  and  Alida  said  to 
each  other,  because  I  do  not  know. 

The  clock  striking  five  awoke  Alida 
to  a  sense  of  her  duties  as  a  hostess. 

"Why,  you  haven't  had  that  tea 
you  came  for,  yet,"  she  said.  "I 
must  make  it.  Dorothy  will  be  com- 
ing along  in  a  minute,  and  she  always 
clamors  for  something  to  eat." 

They  both  laughed  merrily  at  the 
remembrance  of  Philip's  odd  en- 
trance, and  Philip  watched  Alida  set- 
ting the  little  table,  and  delayed 
rather  than  helped  her  with  his  mas- 

279 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

culine  suggestions.  In  fact,  the 
preparations  would  never  have  been 
complete  had  not  Dorothy  and  Mr. 
Ashley  arrived.  Their  arrival  was 
not  a  noticeable  fact,  because  where 
one  went  the  other  usually  ar- 
rived ;  but  on  this  occasion  they 
came  together,  and  there  was  about 
the  two  an  air  of  submission  and 
meekness  that  suggested  that  some- 
thing had  happened.  While  Dorothy 
was  taking  off  her  pretty  wrap,  she 
whispered  to  Alida  in  a  despairing 
tone  : 

"  It's  all  over  ;  we're  engaged." 

Alida  wanted  to  laugh,  but  she 
sympathetically  patted  her  friend's 
broad  shoulder. 

"I'm  so  glad,  dear,"  she  said. 
"  "Was  your  mother  much  upset?  " 

"Upset !  no,"  in  the  utmost  exas- 
peration. "No;  it's  perfectly  dis- 

280 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

heartening.  It  seems  she  wanted  us  to 
marry  all  along.  Did  you  ever  know 
anything  so  commonplace  ?  I  hoped 
at  least  she'd  refuse  her  consent." 

Since  the  musicale  at  Mrs.  Becking- 
ton's  when  Philip  suddenly  became 
Jim's  confidant,  matters  had  been 
carried  by  her  lover  with  a  high 
hand.  Dorothy  was  labelled  "en- 
gaged" at  last,  and  bore  her  new 
honors  with  much  wailing  to  her 
intimates,  and  a  great  show  of  dig- 
nity to  the  outside  world.  Some 
water  was  needed  for  the  tea,  and 
Alida,  kettle  in  hand,  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  get  it;  and  as  a  tea-kettle 
full  of  water  is  a  heavy  and  un- 
pleasant thing  for  a  young  lady  to 
carry,  of  course  Philip  naturally  fol- 
lowed her.  Dorothy  and  Mr.  Ashley 
were  left  alone  for  a  moment  in  the 
studio.  Dorothy  heaved  a  deep, 

281 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

lugubrious  sigh  and  sank  sadly  into  a 
chair  as  far  as  possible  from  her 
fiance. 

"Everything  is  so  dull  and  com- 
monplace now,  isn't  it,  Jim?  " 

Mr.  Ashley  laughed  as  he  sat  down 
on  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  put  his 
arm  around  her. 

"  Is  everything  so  dull  and  common- 
place now?  " 

"  Yes  ;  it  isn't  like  the  old  times, 
when  you  used  to  have  to  snatch  a 
kiss  when  no  one  was  by." 

"No  one  is  by  now,"  kissing  her 
pink  cheek. 

"  I  hoped  mother  would  refuse  her 
consent,  but  you're  so  disgustingly 
eligible.  Just  think  if  you  had  been 
penniless  or  not  in  society,  or  any- 
thing terrible,  and  we  should  have 
had  to  elope  !  " 

"  But    really,    Dorothy,    I     don't 

282 


ALIDA    CRAIO 

think  your  mother  would  have  liked 
you  to  elope." 

"  What  a  silly  thing  to  say!  "  rising 
with  much  scorn.  "  You  haven't  a 
spark  of  romance  in  you." 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  I  don't  think 
my  mother  would  have  liked  me  to 
elope.  Now,  Dorothy,  don't  let's 
quarrel.  I'll  be  married  in  a  balloon, 
or  up  a  tree,  or  anywhere  that  strikes 
you  as  romantic  ;  I'm  awfully  senti- 
mental about  you." 

The  peal  of  the  door-bell  stopped 
any  further  speech,  Alida  and  Philip 
coming  back  at  the  same  time,  as 
though  they  had  only  taken  the  usual 
time  to  fill  the  kettle.  It  was  Mrs. 
Beckington,  utterly  exhausted.  She 
sank  into  a  chair  by  the  door. 

"Don't  speak  to  me;  and  you 
needn't  shut  the  door — Clarence  is 
coming.  Oh,  I'm  so  tired  ;  I've  got 

283 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

the  tea  shakes.  I've  drank  six  cups 
of  tea.  Tea  !  concoctions  of  every- 
thing in  the  world  that  is  calculated 
to  shatter  the  nerves.  Dorothy, 
whatever  form  of  enjoyment  your 
mother  wishes  to  take  for  announcing 
your  engagement,  don't  let  it  be  a 
tea.  I've  been  to  three  announce- 
ment teas  this  afternoon — such  jams  ! 
Eeally,  I  can't  remember  whether 
Mabel  Hawkins,  in  light  blue,  is  going 
to  marry  her  cousin  who  is  in  the 
army,  or  whether  it  is  Louise  Pome- 
roy.  Madame  Calve  sang  at  the 
Lawrence's,  only  their  house  was  so 
crowded  you  couldn't  get  near  the 
music  room." 

Alida,  all  sympathy,  flew  to 
Bertha's  rescue;  she  took  off  her  hat 
and  gave  her  a  glass  of  sherry.  Mrs. 
Beckington  suddenly  caught  sight  of 
her  brother  ;  she  was  so  tired  that 

284 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

she  quite  lost  her  head;  no  ingenue 
could  have  been  guilty  of  a  more  fear- 
ful remark  than  hers. 

"Why,  how  did  you  come  here, 
Philip?"  in  a  tone  of  the  most 
intense  query  and  interest. 

A  dead  silence  followed.  Mr. 
Ashley  alone,  usually  more  remark- 
able for  muscle  than  brains,  came  to 
the  rescue.  He  ignored  her  last 
remark  entirely. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Beckington,  I  entirely 
agree  with  you  ;  Dorothy  and  I  are 
firm  on  one  point  :  we  won't  have  a 
tea.  Mrs.  Mason  may  do  her  worst, 
but  I  positively  refuse  to  be  the  only 
man  in  a  tea  fight,  shaking  hands  and 
having  congratulations  showered  upon 
me  by  thousands  of  women  who  don't 
know  me  from  Adam — or  I  them.  I 
hate  tea — " 

Dorothy's  opinion  of  him  rose  as 
285 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

he  went  on.  She  too  would  have 
liked  to  know  why  Philip  was  there, 
but  she  hadn't  thought  it  good  man- 
ners to  ask  when  he  was  looking  so 
absurdly  happy.  Luckily,  before 
Jim's  ideas  and  breath  gave  out,  for  l 
the  rest  of  the  party  seemed  abso- 
lutely prostrated  by  Mrs.  Becking- 
ton's  extraordinary  question,  a  wel- 
come interruption  came  in  the  shape 
of  Mr.  Beckington  and  Gordon  White. 

"Heigho,  Dorothy,"  was  Mr. 
Beckington's  cordial  greeting,  "I've 
just  met  your  mother  around  at 
Tiffany's,  ordering  the  cards  for  your 
announcement  tea." 

"  Jim,  be  firm,"  said  Dorothy,  com- 
ing and  standing  beside  her  fiance.  ' '  I 
won't  marry  you  if  we  have  to  have  it. ' ' 

Jim  felt  that  he  must  rise  to  the 
occasion ;  his  recent  success  had  elated 

him. 

286 


ALIDA    CRAIG 

"If  your  mother  insists  upon  it, 
I'll  tell  her  I'll  jilt  you,"  he  said  with 
such  earnestness  that  every  one  went 
off  in  shrieks  of  laughter. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Mr.  White 
had  been  to  Alida's  studio.  He 
thought  it  very  charming;  he  looked 
around  at  the  bits  of  color  studies  that 
she  had  up  on  the  wall  with  the  ad- 
miration of  a  connoisseur.  Then  there 
was  the  picture  to  be  seen — the  just- 
finished  picture  of  "  How  Lisa  Loved 
the  King."  They  all  grouped  about 
it,  the  beautiful,  richly  colored  picture 
into  which  Alida  had  worked  so  many 
of  her  cares  and  troubles,  and  which 
was  finished.  Finished  !  Yes,  as 
this  chapter  of  her  life  is  finished. 
To  the  others  it  was  only  a  beautiful 
picture,  but  to  Alida  and  Philip  it 
was  more  ;  and  as  her  friends  talked 
among  themselves  and  admired  all  its 

287 


ALIDA    CRAIQ 

beauties,  Alida  turned  to  Philip  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  glad  light  shin- 
ing in  her  eyes;  the  light  that  told 
that  she  had  indeed  found  her  king. 

And  so  we  are  going  to  leave 
Alida  among  her  intimate  friends  and 
with  her  lover,  for  lovers  and  friends 
are  a  woman's  life  after  all,  however 
clever  she  may  be  with  her  brush  or 
pen.  Alida  has  lived  thus  far  the  life 
of  a  modern  girl,  in  a  position  unique 
and  peculiar  to  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury ;  her  future  will  lie  in  an  entirely 
different  one,  which  is  neither  unique 
nor  peculiar  to  the  nineteenth  century, 
but  which  has  been  the  highest  sphere 
that  a  woman  can  hold  since  the 
world  began,  and  will  be  until  its 
end.  She  has  served  her  apprentice- 
ship nobly  as  a  girl  bachelor,  and  she 
will  fill  nobly  the  sacred  position  of 

wife  and  mother. 

288 


ALIDA   CRAIG 

The  years  will  go  by ;  Dorothy  and 
Jim  will  marry,  Mr.  Beckington  will 
go  on  adoring  his  wife,  who  will  for 
many  years  have  a  faithful  devotee  in 
Gordon  "White. 

And  what  of  Margaret?  "Word 
will  come  across  the  seas  of  the 
"American  Duchess,"  for  so  she  is 
called  in  love  and  honor  by  all  who 
know  her.  She  is  noted  far  and  wide 
for  her  goodness  and  charity,  the 
light  of  her  glorious  charm  and  her 
devotion  to  her  husband.  She  has 
reclaimed  the  name  of  her  nation 
from  that  scorn  of  women  who  marry 
for  position  and  title,  and  is  happy  as 
those  are  happy  who  live  to  be  at 
peace  with  themselves,  thankful  that 
Providence  in  its  mercy  has  allowed 
them  to  repair  with  their  own  hands 
the  evil  they  have  wrought. 


A     000  036  389     5 


